Brothers In Arms: Part Two
by The Nightrunners
Summary: Welcome to Paris: The White City. Please enjoy your stay, it may not be standing by the time the Fellowship leaves.
1. Prologue: II files

Authors' Note: Sorry this has taken so long. Fanfic wasn't working properly the last few days. Let's try this again. Welcome to Part Two of Brothers in Arms. We hope you enjoy it. We haven't done away with the soundtracks, we just couldn't find any for these two chapters. Please be patient with the slow updates. Also, just so nobody gets the wrong idea, we still don't own any of these characters. All three Nightrunners were hoping for the copyrights from Santa Clause, but no such luck. Enjoy,

The Nightrunners 

  
  


The young man sat down at his computer with a sigh. He had only gotten married a few weeks ago, and he was already back to work. Of course, he did have to admit to himself that it was quite a perk to have the sam job as your wife. He wouldn't have to worry about leaving her if they had to go out on assignment. Turning back to his computer, he noticed that a message had been sent to him in the last two days. Opening it, he watched as it text scrolled across the screen.  
  


Message:  
  


Here are the files. Please adhere to company security policies. Further instructions will follow.   
  


II Files, Dublin Branch, Classified-Eyes Only  
  
  
  


Name: Adam Gordon

Reincarnation of: Aragorn, Son of Arathorn, King of Gondor

Gender: male

Age: 31

Hair Colour: brown

Eye Colour: grey

Race: human

Occupation: Street Officer, New York City Police Force

Family: parents deceased, possible relatives in Paris, France 

Home: New York City

Preferred Weapon(s): service automatic (accomplished marksman), some training in hand-to-hand combat

Vital Statistics: relocated to NYC from Paris, France in 2038  
  
  
  


Name: Alice Starr 

Reincarnation of: Lady Arwen Undómiel of Imladris, Queen of Gondor

Gender: female

Age: 29

Hair Colour: black

Eye Colour: dark blue

Race: human, formerly of the Noldorian/Sindarin and Half-Elven kin

Occupation: Street Officer, New York City Police Force

Family: orphaned, parents unknown, siblings unknown

Home: New York City

Preferred Weapon(s): magic, defensive and offensive, service automatic (accomplished marksman)

Vital Statistics: Class II spellcaster, mage killer, history of depression   
  
  
  


Name: Legolas Thranduillion 

Reincarnation of: N/A

Gender: male

Age: unknown, 30000+

Hair Colour: pale blond

Eye Colour: blue

Race: Elf, Sindar-Sylvan mix

Occupation: none

Family: Thranduil Oropharion, father, Queen Charlotte Islands, mother unknown, siblings unknown 

Home: varies, currently New York City

Preferred Weapon(s): Elven longbow, knives, various guns (skilled marksman) 

Vital Statistics: mage killer, relocated to NYC (2029), history of near-fatal accidents, was a possible member of Roman court (Octavius Caesar), was a possible member of the English court (Elizabeth I), possibly served in British Navy under Admiral Nelson (Battle of Trafalgar)  
  


Name: Gabriel Gleason

Reincarnation of: Gimli, son of Gloin

Gender: male

Age: 36

Hair Colour: brown

Eye Colour: brown

Race: human, formerly Ereborian Dwarf

Occupation: Professor of Geosciences, Princeton University.

Family: unknown

Home: West Windsor, New Jersey

Preferred Weapon(s): military trained, highly skilled marksman with various guns, trained in several forms of hand-to-hand combat 

Vital Statistics: mage killer, served in Majic Wars as U.S government-trained special operative, files heavily classified, genetically-engineered for superior magic resistance  
  
  
  


Name: Felix Baker 

Reincarnation of: Frodo Baggins, Ringbearer

Gender: male

Age: 23

Hair Colour: dark brown

Eye Colour: pale blue

Race: human, former Hobbit

Occupation: rock musician

Known Family: parents deceased, no siblings

Home: New York City

Preferred Weapon(s): knife, gun

Vital Statistics: member of rock band (Green Dragon), street denizen since early age, advanced survival skills   
  
  
  


Name: Sam Gardener

Reincarnation of: Samwise Gamgee

Gender: male

Age: 20

Hair Colour: blond

Eye Colour: brown

Race: human, former Hobbit

Occupation: rock musician

Known Family: parents unknown

Home: New York City

Preferred Weapon(s): knife

Vital Statistics: member of rock band (Green Dragon), street denizen since birth, advanced survival skills  
  
  
  


Name: Peter Taylor

Reincarnation of: Peregrin (Pippin) Took 

Gender: male

Age: 19

Hair Colour: light brown

Eye Colour: hazel

Race: human, former Hobbit

Occupation: rock musician

Known Family: mother deceased, father unknown, siblings unknown

Home: New York City

Preferred Weapon(s): knife

Vital Statistics: member of rock band (Green Dragon), orphaned to streets at age 11, advanced survival skills 

  
  


Name: Mark Anderson Brand III

Reincarnation of: Meriadoc (Merry) Brandybuck

Gender: male

Age: 21

Hair Colour: brown

Eye Colour: grey

Race: human, former Hobbit

Occupation: rock musician

Known Family: parents deceased, siblings unknown

Home: New York City

Preferred Weapon(s): knife, gun

Vital Statistics: member of rock band (Green Dragon), orphaned at age 8, advanced survival skills  
  


The young man considered calling his wife in to look at the information before him. He decided that it was quite probable that she had received the same file. He saw no point in waking her for something she would learn soon enough. He looked to the bottom of his screen, and read the last of his instructions:  
  


Watch them.  
  


The game had started. He only hoped that the pawns were aware of this as well. He was looking forward to meeting them.


	2. Lost Soul

Lost Soul

  
  


The little girl walked down the echoing empty corridors. She was small, with bare, skinny legs under a black velvet dress. She wore a red serge coat that was too long in the sleeves, and dark, snarled curls hung over her shoulders.  
  


The image of a child was shattered by her purposeful stride and the look of ancient coldness in her blue eyes.  
  


Once upon a time, she'd been Patricia Isobel Law, affectionately known as Trish to her mother and her friends. A little girl who'd liked art class and playing baseball in the park. She had wanted to be a ballerina, a famous painter, and win an Olympic gold medal someday.  
  


Once upon a time...  
  


The corridor ended in set of tall double doors. They swung open of their own accord when she reached them.  
  


The room beyond was enormous past all description. The ceilings were arched like a Gothic cathedral, so high overhead that anyone standing below were dwarfed in comparison. Shafts of strong morning sunlight flowed through the massive windows, but by the time they reached the distant stone floor, the light was a weak. But a small threat to the pervading darkness of the place.  
  


It was deep, dark, and oppressive. If the Witch Queen could feel fear, her heart would be hammering. If she could feel despair, she'd be falling to her knees.  
  


Somewhere, deep within that twisted, shattered soul, a little girl was screaming.  
  


The Witch Queen walked through the echoing, empty room. There was no sound to heard but the undead beat of her heart and the near-imperceptible tap of her feet on the stone floor.  
  


She stopped, feet planted, eyes staring directly ahead.   
  


With a sudden, violent swish, a heavy curtain was thrown aside. Blinding sunlight streamed through a window, from ground level to twenty feet overhead. The Witch Queen stood unblinking, even as tears streamed from her eyes and her pupils shrank to pinpricks amid the blue.   
  


A silhouette stood dark as death, a blot in the dazzling sunlight. Human-sized, human-shaped, it was impossible to judge.  
  


Then it spoke. "You failed."  
  


A voice that was neither male nor female, and so flatly impersonal and cold that it could not be human. No human could be so devoid of passion, of feeling.  
  


The Witch Queen didn't flinch, dared not even look away from the light. A misstep would result in her destruction. "Yes. The ambush failed. The Nine Walkers were not united, their spirits were not present, but they were stronger than we anticipated. Their Istari is unaccounted for, but they had a witch."  
  


"Will it happen again?"  
  


"No. We underestimated them. The Elf-" she paused, "-the Sindar half-breed sacrificed himself to incapacitate me. He will not have another opportunity."  
  


A thread of emotion, perhaps of amusement, crept into the shadow's voice. "I doubt that. The Firstborn are notoriously difficult to destroy. What of the Ringbearer and his other companions?"  
  


"Weakened. The Gondor King is injured. The witch and the dwarf are wounded in their souls. The Sindar prince is near death. Pain inflicted on one spreads throughout them all." Her voice dropped in contempt. "In this they are weak."  
  


The silhouette walked back and forth, pacing the length of the window. The light was dazzling, but this shadow seemed to draw all darkness towards it, a deep blot in the brilliance. 

"Yes," it said, stepping forward. "But this also makes them strong."  
  


Deep within, the little girl gave one final, terrified shriek. Then, the last scrap of Trisha Law yanked her soul free of the darkness and flew away into the light.


	3. En Route

Author's Note: Hey everyone. Someone asked what other names the authoresses write under. *The Nightrunners glance around furtively, wondering how many aliases they should give away.* Kidding, kidding. Jai writes under the penname Ivory Moon, Dru writes under Sun Queen, and Meg uses Eirual of the Nightrunners. However, updates under these other names tend to be...sporadic, at best. As previously noted, updates to "Brothers in Arms" are going to be slow for a while, as the Nightrunners have all hit competitive season for their respective sports, and midterm exams are just around the corner. *Nightrunners wail and cower under computer desk*. Nevertheless, we shall strive to keep the updates coming, so keep checking! 

  


Enjoy the chapter! 

  


En Route

Nose deep didn't even begin to describe how much trouble they were in. 

  


Alice looked around the dismal interior of the cargo plane and sighed. Legolas was lying in the corner where they had propped him. They were starting to run out of bandages to staunch the blood flow. Actually, she amended, they were starting to run out of *clothing* to staunch the blood too. Her scarf was now beyond the repair of any professional drycleaner. 

  


"That pilot has to be *the* most unfeeling, cold-hearted son of a bitch...!!" 

  


Alice looked up as Gabe spluttered to a halt, unable to speak through his rage. He narrowly avoided tripping over the unconscious Mark, as the plane took a sudden lurch to the left. Glaring in the direction of the cockpit, Gabe continued on his way back over his fallen friend. Sitting down, he carefully placed the elf's head in his lap. 

  


Her gaze swept across the room to Peter, who was crouching by Mark, cracking his knuckles repeatedly. On occasion, he would give Mark a poke, to see if he was awake yet. Alice could see the worry behind his every movement, because she felt it as well. They were all worried.

  


Gabe carefully brushed blood-matted hair off his friend's pale face. Arwen raised one eyebrow. "And what was that outburst all about?"

  


" That bastard won't let us use *any* of the medical supplies onboard. Apparently, he's been paid to get us to Paris, no more." Gabe's face contorted into a realistic impression of the pilot's surly visage. "Nothing in my contract says you have to get to Paris *alive*." 

  


Alice figured the contempt in Gabe's voice had just lowered the temperature of the room by several degrees. She looked past him to where Sam and Felix were curled up, Felix asleep on Sam's shoulder. 

  


// They seem to be taking this rather well. At least they're getting some rest.//

  


With another heart-felt sigh of concern, Alice turned her sights on the last member of their fellowship. 

  


Adam was lying on the floor, with his head resting in her lap. She had pulled his shirt off one shoulder, so that she could monitor the development of the tattoo that was seeping up from under his skin. Tiny pinpricks of darkness blossomed, in stark contrast to the pale colouring. Sweat beaded his brow, and he cringed as each tiny spot appeared. Alice knew how much pain he had to be in right now. Mage tattoos took hours to form, eventually leaving the killer branded for life with another's life print. Each was as unique as the person who bore it. Or the person who had died for it. 

  


Peter, abandoning his game of 'Turn-Mark-Black-and-Blue-by-Poking-Him', walked slowly over to where Gabe was sitting with Legolas. "Is he going to die?"

  


"I don't know. It's hard to tell with Elves. There isn't much we can do for him either way."

  


Alice winced at the pain in Gimli's voice. Rummaging through her pack, she pulled out a bottle of water, and an energy bar. "Here. Give him some water, it might help. Make sure you eat that bar too. You're no good to anyone if you can't fight."

  


"Thus speaks the high and mighty elf-maiden, who is useless without magic, and yet won't take her own advice and get some sleep."

  


" Just what are you implying, Gimli Gloinson? That I *need* magic to be useful? Or that you don't approve of my being here?"

  


" All that I'm *implying*, my Lady, is that you appear to be very distracted by someone whom you were beating off the walls not long ago. What good does it serve him if you can't protect yourself when he wakes up?" 

  


" The same could be said to you, Master Dwarf."

  


Peter decided to intervene before Alice or Gabe pecked each other to death. In a literal sense. " Would you two shut up? We're all worried about them, but picking at each other isn't going to help, is it? Honestly, for people who were born several millennia ago, you get awfully bitchy when you're tired." The plane chose that moment to give particularly violent lurch. Pippin careened across the cabin, banging into several of the mysterious crates lashed to the walls. He ended his headlong dash by landing in a tangled heap atop Felix and Sam.

  


"Pippin!!"

  


"Good morning, Frodo. Did you have a good rest?"

  


"No. How's Legolas?"

  
  


Alice interrupted before they could slide back into the conversation they had just ended. " Don't ask. Come over and have some breakfast. I have energy bars and dried fruit in my bag."

  


Sam grimaced. " Yuck. Besides, it's too late for breakfast."

  


" What about second breakfast?"

  


" Or lunch?"

  


Alice decided that it was time to steer thing back on track again. " Just come over and have some food." 

  


Despite all the complaints, the three hobbits tucked in readily. When the last crumbs of dried fruit had vanished, they turned to lighter matters. " What are we going to do when we get to Paris, anyway?" asked Sam. The other two automatically turned to Alice and Gabe for an answer.

  


Alice sighed. " I don't know. The only people who really have anything valuable to contribute are both unconscious at the moment." In response to the quizzical looks from all three rockers, she continued. " Legolas is the only person who actually knows anything. He is currently bleeding profusely in the corner. He isn't going to be able to help us unless we get him to a doctor soon. The other person who could have helped is Adam. He grew up in Paris, and probably still has a few contacts there. Unfortunately, he's *also* passed out right now, and certainly won't be waking up for a while."

  


Mark chose this precise moment to wake up. His eyes were still a little unfocussed, but at least he was conscious. Peter leaned over and assisted him into a sitting position. 

  


" Mmrph. Why does my head feel like someone ran it into a wall?"

  


" Of course it feels like that. You did it yourself, moron. Come over and get food, I think there's still some left. Legolas and Adam certainly aren't going to need it."

  


" Very smooth, Pip."

  


Alice had to laugh at the easy banter between the hobbits. As Gandalf had said, hobbits truly *were* amazing creatures.

  


" I don't remember feeling this bad after the Uruk-hai clocked me on the head. Are you sure no one took the opportunity to have a little fun at my expense? Maybe using my head for a volleyball? Come on Pip, tell me the truth and I'll buy you a beer."

  


" It can't possibly be as good as the stuff at the Golden Perch." Peter sighed, a dreamy look crossing his face. " I've never had a better mug of ale."

  


Felix and Sam both nodded. " Even Butterbur's brew couldn't match it.", added Felix.

  


Gabe glanced at them, a memory resurfacing. "Hold up a second. How did the two of you manage to remember on your own? You ran out of Legolas's like bats out of hell, and the next thing, all your memories are back. Suddenly, you're in a tearing hurry to get *back* to the apartment you left two hours before. "

  


An exasperated expression crossed Felix's face. "A little bird told us."

  


Sam glanced at him incredulously. "A *little* bird? Try again. It was something more along the lines of a large, old, meddling, GREY BUZZARD!"

  


"Okay. Sam was probably a bit closer to the truth," Felix added meekly.

  


The others stared at them. 

  


It was Alice who finally broke the silence. "You can't possibly mean–"

  


"Oh yes," Sam confirmed, looking almost maniacal in his glee. "You know precisely who we mean."

  


"Gandalf?"

  


"Where is he?"

  


Felix and Sam glanced at each other.

  


"Don't know."

  


"Don't care either."

Silence descended on the party once again. All that could be heard over the drone of the engines was Legolas's shallow raspy breathing.

  


" As much as I hate to derail this most *cheerful* of conversations, there is some business that has to be taken care of before we reach Paris."

  


Gabe looked at Alice with understanding. " I think you mean *are* we going to reach Paris?'"

  


"Somebody give the Dwarf a cigar. The way I see it, if we land in Paris, we might as well pull out our guns and shoot ourselves. Walking into the White City would be the stupidest thing we could possibly do. We don't know who's friendly and who to avoid. We don't know where the other elves are, and the only person who might be able to show us is, well..." she glanced to the corner.

  


Felix and Sam looked up at her, from where they had been holding a whispered discussion for the last few minutes.

  


"What if we got the pilot to drop us off outside of Paris?" Felix suggested.

  


Sam picked up the idea " Yeah! If we got him to put us down just outside of the White City, we could rent a car or something and drive in. Everyone is expecting us to arrive by air. There are too many roads for them all to be watched. We can definitely slip through somewhere."

  


Gabe and Alice both had the look of experienced tacticians, filling out details and plotting probabilities in their heads.

  


" We'd have to take the Underground into the city. I know there are above ground accesses, but nobody uses them anymore. We'd probably draw too much attention if we tried that."

  


Gabe nodded at Alice, their spat forgiven and forgotten in the need to plan their mutual survival. " That's true. Another thing we have to think of is how exactly are we going to get the pilot to drop us off outside the City?"

  


" Well, Alice could seduce him."

  


A rather sickening glow began to form around Peter as he finished his sentence. He began to twitch as the blue-green light crackled with energy. " Ow! I thought you were tapped out!"

  


" I am *now*. Does anyone else have a pertinent suggestion?"

  


" Well, so far all we've come up with is you seducing him, or Gabe threatening him."

  


Mark sighed. " Peter, do us all a favour and shut up before you make things worse. What if we bribed him? Would that work?" 

  


The others looked at Mark like he had grow a couple of extra heads in the past few minutes. "Merry, that would be wonderful, but we don't have anything to bribe him *with*"

  


" Sam is right, Mark. We all left New York in a big hurry. We don't have enough cash to bribe him, and if Alice or I use our bank accounts, we' ll be leaving a road map for somebody to find us."

  


"Actually," said Mark slowly. "We *do* have something to bribe him with."

  


He reached into one of the deep, inner pockets of his cargo pants, and pulled out a small bundle of blue silk. It was worn and stained from touch and time, but it was obvious that this had once been very fine material. Mark unwrapped it carefully and held up the contents to the light.

  


It was a ring. A platinum band set with a small, perfect diamond, flanked on either side with tiny sapphires. Simple, elegant, and worth a fortune.

  


Alice's breath caught in her throat. "Mark, where did you get that?"

  


Merry was suddenly engrossed with studying the floor by his feet. "It belonged to my mother."

  


The witch gently ran a finger over the curve of the band. Had it been hers, she knew she'd never be able to bear parting with it. "Mark, your mother is dead, isn't she?"

  


The ex-hobbit nodded, his head bowed. "Yeah. Mom was a domestic housekeeper in some guy's summer home, down in the Carolinas. Some airline mogul, I think." His eyes tightened a little. "She said he was a good man. When she got pregnant, he wanted to keep it quiet, so he gave her some money. And the ring. She took it, moved to the city, then we ended up stuck in Necropolis during the war. She got caught in one of the bombings when I was eight."

  


Everyone tactfully averted their attention as Mark scrubbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

  


Alice finally broke the silence. "Merry, we don't have to use this. We can find another way..."

  


"No." said Mark. "There is no other way. We have to get into Paris quietly, and we have to get Legolas to someone who can help him. It's okay." He shrugged, but the emotion in his eyes wasn't quite hidden. "It's just a ring."

  


Wordlessly, Arwen leaned over and hugged Mark, laying her cheek on top of his soft brown hair. The light winked off the diamond, and somewhere deep inside, a little boy leaned over his mother's fallen body and cried. 

  



	4. Patience

Authors' Note : For those who were wondering, our other pen names are under our favourite authors. We're not narcissistic, it just seemed to be the fastest way to link everything together. Also, we forgot to add the soundtrack to the last chapter. It was Fly, by Jars of Clay. Enjoy the chapter.

  
  


Patience

Sound track: Stuck in A Moment

  
  


The well-dressed young man glanced at his watch for the fifteenth time in as many minutes, and sighed. He paced the well-appointed airport lounge, impatience evident in his every move. 

  
  


Finally, after his fourth circuit of the room, he collapsed in one of the chairs left for just this purpose. Wealth had its advantages, after all.

Another such advantage took this opportunity to enter the room. The man stared at the airline attendant. "I'm sorry, sir," she said, in response to his look, "There's still no word of the flight." Smiling encouragingly, she added, "Perhaps they were delayed in New York. There's always some new mechanical failure popping up at JFK. If you would like to leave, and perhaps order dinner, there may be news when you return."

  
  


The man shook his head, and the attendant sighed inwardly. "Perhaps you would a diversion while you are here?" Her provincial accent became slightly more noticeable, colouring her English words. "I am certain we could have food brought to you; perhaps a magazine, or something else...?" She trailed off helplessly, as the man made no move to answer.

  
  


Finally, he replied, his voice quiet: " I desire nothing, as I said before, except notification when the plane arrives."

  
  


His steely tone made the stewardess shiver, despite herself. //Rich businessman//, she reminded herself. //Do not antagonize him, do what he requires, and then get on with your work.// Summoning a bright smile, she replied, "Very well, sir. I will check for updates on the flight for you." When he did not answer, she moved uncertainly towards the door. "I'll just go then." Pushing the door open, she turned and almost fled from his presence.

  
  


Once she was gone, the man sighed once more. He stood up and began to pace. Back and forth, back and forth, across the rented room, a suite for rich clients who wanted to avoid the common crowds of the airport. Or perhaps for those who wished to avoid prying eyes. He ran his hands through short brown hair, and almost growled in frustration. He hated this inactivity, this sitting around doing *nothing*, while relying on the minions of others to bring him information.

  
  


No, the young man did not take inactivity well. This suite was to him a gilded cage, preventing him from taking action. He was feeling particularly murderous when his pager went off with a jarring beep in the otherwise silent room. His hand shot towards his jacket pocket, pulling the small black device into view. 

  
  


A stark message scrolled across the glowing screen. The man felt the blood drain from his face:

  
  


We've got a problem. Come to Dublin. Now.

  
  


He swore and made a move for the door, just as the unfortunate attendant was re-entering.

  
  


"I'm sorry, sir, there's still been no-oh! My apologies, sir, I did not realize-"

  
  


The young man stepped deftly around the stammering woman, heading for the door. With his long strides, the attendant was forced to turn a complete one-eighty and run after him. "Sir? Is everything all right? Can I-"

  
  


He turned then, so suddenly that the poor attendant stopped in her tracks. "When's the next flight to Dublin?" he asked, his tone abrupt. 

  
  


Whatever the woman was expecting, this wasn't it. "I'm not certain, sir. I can find out for you."

  
  


"Yes." His tone suggested that any argument would be foolish. "I need to be out on the next flight. It's extremely important." An unreadable emotion flickered briefly in his eyes, and his voice softened. "Please."

  
  


Wordless, the stewardess nodded, and headed down the hall, her heels clicking on the marble floor. 

  
  


The man strode after her, feeling his anticipation rise. Finally, a bit of action. Seeing as it was Dublin calling him in chances were that it wasn't going to be *positive* action, but at least he would be doing *something*.

  
  


After all, he had waited most of his life for this day. He couldn't wait much longer. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Just A Dream

Author's Note: Hey everyone. Adam has developed a rather disturbing schizophrenic Gollum-like tendency to flick back and forth between Adam and Aragorn's personalities without even realizing it. Please refrain from hauling off and smacking the stunned little bugger. Remember that we love him very much, and do not, in fact, want to kill him. Also, the other two Nightrunners want everyone to wish Eirual a belated 18th birthday * confetti is thrown*.   
  


Just A Dream

Soundtrack: The Hornburg ( The Two Towers Soundtrack)  
  


  
  


Darkness.  
  


That was the pervading impression, a blackness that surrounded and penetrated all things, a place where light had never reached.  
  


And pain. Oh, yes, there was a good deal of *that* too.  
  


Gradually, Adam became vaguely aware of something hitting his face, a cold persistent patter that was becoming more and more familiar. Rain. He opened his eyes, and stared into a moonless sky.  
  


All around him, battle was raging. He slowly paced along the parapet of an ancient castle, watching a line of armoured archers delivering volley after volley, some falling with quivering black shafts embedded through their chests and throats. Screaming, the clash of steel on steel, and the constant pervading hiss of the rain.  
  


None of the arrows hit him, even though he walked in front of the archers' line. None of the soldiers took any notice of him.  
  


In the distance, a massive explosion rocked the wall. Adam watched in interest as huge blocks of sto89ne tumbled through the air, falling debris mixed with flying bodies. He continued to make his way along the wall, towards the breach. A surge of dark-armoured creatures were pouring through, brandishing spears and scimitars and all manner of archaic weapons.  
  


Finally, picking his way through the corpses and fallen debris, he walked to the broken edge of the crumbling wall, to stand beside a familiar figure.  
  


"Hello," said Legolas conversationally, his leather duster slick with rain, his blond hair damp and dripping. He was holding a longbow, and without pausing, fitted another arrow and let it fly. Somewhere below, an enemy screamed and reeled, swiftly joining the ranks of the dead.  
  


Adam absently pushed wet hair off his face, drew his service revolver, and fired. The crack of the gunshot was quite loud, and another creature fell. "What is this place?" he asked, lining up for another shot.  
  


"Helm's Deep, I should think." said Legolas, firing another arrow. "Ring a bell?"  
  


Adam frowned, fired again. "A little bit. I feel like I've dreamed about this place before."  
  


Legolas shrugged, picked up another arrow. "They'd probably be nightmares. You and I and Gabe fought here. It wasn't a nice battle."  
  


"What were the odds?"  
  


"About twenty to one, their favour."  
  
  
  


"Shit."  
  


"Exactly."  
  


Adam reloaded his gun. "Is this real?"  
  


Legolas picked up an arrow, and held it to his eye. "I'm not really sure. Currently, I think you're unconscious, and I've had the living hell beat out of me." He shrugged. "I'm trying to keep myself anchored, so my consciousness doesn't just drift away. Believe it or not, I don't want to die just yet. So I guess I latched myself on to the least defended mind available. That would be you. Sorry."  
  


"Don't worry about it, I'm not exactly in any position to complain. Is this one of your memories?"  
  


Legolas frowned. "Probably. You were here too, so it might be one of yours. It's hard to tell. Hey, look over there, it's us."  
  


Adam stuck his revolver back in its holster, and joined the elf on the other side of the wall; it overlooked a vast, muddy courtyard, illuminated by huge, hissing torches.  
  


Two armies were fighting, one side composed of men, more or less. The other-Adam hissed in disgust- some sort of creatures that sent a chill of loathing right though his hindbrain. Away from rationality, away from logical thought, these creatures sent a gust of primal hatred right through Adam's core.  
  


"Orcs." commented Legolas, fingering a fray in his bowstring. "And Uruk-hai. Nasty piece of work, those. You're the dark-haired one with the big sword, yeah, the one leading the charge."  
  


Adam watched the man with a sort of bemusement. The entire scene was suffused with a dreamlike quality, a completely surreal atmosphere. "That's me?" he ventured.  
  


"Yeah. I'm over on the far side, see the blond one with the knives? Gabe's the short, psychotic one with the axe."  
  


Adam watched himself fight for a few seconds. "My hair was longer."  
  


"It was, wasn't it?"  
  


"And I looked older."  
  


"You did. Well, technically, you were in your eighties then, so it makes sense."  
  


Adam turned to face the elf. "I was *eighty* then?"  
  


"Eighty-eight, actually." Legolas corrected mildly. "Seeing as you died when you were 210, it all balances out."  
  


Adam rubbed the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache. "So, despite the fact that we were hopelessly outnumbered and I was *leading* the charge, I didn't die in this place?"  
  


"Oh, no." Legolas shook his head and smiled slightly. "You went on to live a long and disgustingly happy life. You helped save the world, then you became the King of Gondor and all your subjects adored you. You married the love of your life and you were very happy."  
  


"Arwen." breathed Adam, staring at the fighting below.  
  


"Arwen, Alice, whatever you want to call her. She was an elf, and she loved you enough to give up her immortality. So, when all the Elves sailed away for the Undying Lands, she stayed behind."  
  


"What happened then?"  
  


"Well, you died. You were only a mortal, Adam, even if you were a particularly long-lived one. Arwen left your city, and went to Lothlorien, the forest-land of her kin." Legolas paused, his eyes dark with pain. "But there was nobody there. And so she wandered, grieving and heart-broken, until she was forgotten by everyone. She pined until she died, alone under the empty trees and sky. So passed the Evenstar from the land of light and life."  
  


Adam's eyes were fixed on some point below, but he clearly wasn't seeing anything. "I left her?"  
  


"Yes."  
  


"I left her."  
  


**********  
  


The darkness suddenly receded in a swift wave, leaving only painful light and clarity in its wake. Adam Gordon opened his eyes, blinked, and watched the distracted face of Alice Starr swim into focus above him. He was lying on his back with his head propped in her lap, could hear the rumble of old engines, feel the vibrations in the floor. She wasn't paying attention to him; rather, she was staring at the far wall, lost in thought. Her fingers were gently running across his scalp and through his hair, a soothing feeling to fight the burning pain of his shoulder.   
  


He blinked again, and cleared his throat experimentally. Alice's gaze snapped back to his and she jumped. Well, she jumped as well as you can jump when while sitting cross-legged with someone's head in your lap. This ended with Alice in a semi-crouched position and Adam's head hitting the floor hard enough to make the world spin.  
  


"Oh, Christ. Adam..."  
  


Alice grabbed him under the shoulders and tugged him semi-upright. He turned and stared at her, grey eyes deep and full of some lost pain, the sort of agony that had nothing to do with a bruised head and a mage-scarred shoulder.  
  


"I'm sorry."  
  


His voice was so quiet, that, for a moment, she thought she'd imagined it. "Sorry for what?"  
  


His eyes locked on hers; for a moment, there was terrible clarity, a *certainty* in their depths. It faded slowly, like sunlight behind a passing cloud.  
  


Adam slowly sat up, with the depressing realization that this was reality. "I don't remember."   
  


. 


	6. Family

Family 

Soundtrack : You Can't Stop Me! (Rajaton)

  
  


When that happened to me

at first I couldn't see

but then, I decided not to close my eyes

and then I found a way

an impossible way-

so you said, but it made me fly, right away

  
  


(Repeat Verse 1)

  
  


Now I'm just like a token spinning in a trance but, SURPRISE!

I don't fall and I don't choose either side

I keep rolling around in the dance I just have found

the laws of nature make exceptions somehow--

you can't really stop me now

  
  


I keep balancing on, but I'm good because I'm strong

and I turn when I see you reaching for me

And it still makes me laugh, that you thought you had all of me

but you see I keep changing on.

You can't really stop me now!!

The dark-haired man strode through the Dublin airport as if he owned it. He walked precisely, without wasted movement. This was not an average business man, despite his well-tailored suit. 

  
  


He glanced about with the same economy of movement, taking in his surroundings. People bustled past, disregarded. Finally, at the very end of the arrivals lounge, he spotted the one he sought: a tall, fair man dressed casually in jeans and a pullover.

  
  


Smiling, his 'contact' hurried over. "You got here fast," he said approvingly.

  
  


The Paris businessman grinned back, briefly, and nodded. "I bullied an airline attendant almost to tears and she got me the fastest flight in."

  
  


"That wasn't nice." There was a trace of reproof in the other's voice. He glanced apologetically at his companion, and smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry about this," he said almost sheepishly. "But I need the contact phrase."

  
  


The well-dressed man from Paris looked at him, disbelieving. "Are you joking?"

  
  


His contact looked uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," he repeated, "but there are eyes everywhere these days, some friendly, some less so. I had a rather pointed message from headquarters telling me not to relax my guard, and to adhere to standard security procedures." 

  
  


Grimacing, the Paris man waved away the apology. "Alright, I get it." He sighed. He spoke again, and as though his next task was entirely unpleasant, his voice dropped into a soft lilt that seemed completely at odds with his character:

  
  


""Sí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar."" **

  
  


The other man laughed at his discomfort, then replied in the same tongue:

  
  


""Nai hiruvalyë Valimar."" ***

  
  


"So, do I pass the elves' test of who can best mangle their precious language?" the businessman asked, not without irony.

  
  


His companion laughed lightly. "I've often thought that Galadriel possesses a slightly twisted sense of humour."

  
  


While talking, the two men had left the airport, and headed towards the curb of the arrival's gate. A black car awaited them, the engine purring contentedly.

  
  


Opening the door, the two climbed into the backseat. "Back to base, please," the casually dressed man informed the unseen driver.

  
  


The two settled back into the leather interior as the car left the parking lot, the businessman nodding appreciatively. "II has come up in the world since we last met."

  
  


The other grinned at the comment. "We offer only the best for White City Enterprises, sir."

  
  


The formality vanished.

  
  


"Barry."

  
  


"Finn. Christ, how long has it been since we've spoken face to face?"

  
  


Finn, the contact, shrugged. "A couple of months, maybe?"

  
  


"That's pathetic, you realize."

  
  


Another shrug. "I know. How's Dad?"

  
  


Barry loosened his tie, grimacing. "Oh, you know. The old man is fine. Asks about you every day. You know how he worries."

  
  


This prompted a humourless laugh. "Of course he does."

  
  


"Yeah, fine then, so he curses your name on a regular basis," Barry sighed. "Nothing you didn't know already."

"Yeah, I know. Speaking of which, has he got a clue where I am?"

  
  


"Nope. I don't think he realizes that *I* know where you are, otherwise, I'd be under the gun."

  
  


"Good. I like Ireland. I don't want to have to move our base again. I take it that you haven't you told him about our little project?"

  
  


"II? Hell no. I *really* think that this is better off as a secret."

  
  


"Ithilien Intelligence," Finn smirked. "II. Erin thought it up. She's great at coming up with catchy names."

  
  


"Not very subtle, though," Barry commented.

  
  


"Good thing there's only a handful of people in the world who would catch the reference. And we're two of them. Don't you feel lucky?"

  
  


"Not very often," was Barry's wry reply.

  
  


"Yeah, thanks for the cash, by the way. Where did it come from?"

  
  


"I diverted funding from one of our human resources projects that nobody cares about." Barry smiled proudly. "Dad will never miss it." 

  
  


"Excellent. You'd be amazed how much cash this project eats."

  
  


"I doubt it would amaze me at all. I've gotten you a good chunk of it, remember?"

  
  


"But don't you appreciate the irony of the situation?"

  
  


"What irony? That Dad's Golden Boy has embezzled several hundred million for you, the prodigal son, in the past couple of years?"

  
  


"You're too kind. One of these days I'll make you a thank-you card." 

  
  


Barry shook his head, smiling. "Consider it a wedding gift. I'm sorry I missed the nuptial, by the way. I was in South Africa checking out a project for Dad, and I didn't get your message. Then again, you and Erin didn't give a lot of warning."

  
  


"Yeah, so we'll use the money to buy a new toaster."

  
  


"It was over three million dollars this time."

  
  


"So we'll buy a *lot* of toasters."

  
  


Barry sighed, amused, and turned to face Finn. "So what was so important that I had to hightail it out of Paris, anyway?"

  
  


Finn winced. It was obvious that he'd been trying to delay this moment. "Well..." he said hesitantly.

  
  


"What is it?" Barry asked, his suspicion growing. When Finn got evasive, it meant things were *bad*.

  
  


"There's been a minor complication."

  
  


"Finn, anytime you say there's been a 'minor complication', it means there's been a huge screaming *derailment* of plans. Please, just tell me what the *hell* is going on?"

  
  


Biting his lower lip, Finn braced for the worst. "We've lost them."

  
  


Barry, for his part, looked confused. "But it's a plane. They're on a plane."

  
  


"Yes, well-"

  
  


"Finn, don't tell me you lost the god-damned plane!" At the other's stricken expression, he groaned. "How is that possible?"

  
  


Finn held up his hands defensively. "They deviated from their flight plan. That's all I can tell you. Our scanners lost them somewhere over the south of England."

  
  


"That doesn't make any sense." Barry rubbed his temples, his expression pained. "I waited at the airport for hours. Glorfindel gave them the message: 'Meet Barry Stuart from White City Enterprises in Paris. He's a friend."

  
  


Finn shrugged helplessly. "I had no idea what was going on when they dropped off our scanners. I figured that there was some change in plan, but I hadn't heard from you so I decided-"

  
  


Barry nodded. "I know, I know." He glanced out the tinted window. "What's going on?" he wondered out loud. "Adam's with them, he would know that I'm trustworthy. Something's wrong, Finn, I just know it."

  
  


Finn watched him closely. "He doesn't remember you, Barry. He's not Aragorn anymore."

  
  


Barry frowned. "I know. The son of Denethor means nothing to him. But he knows *me*, Finn!" He leaned forward, his face earnest. "He sure as hell knows Barry Stuart. He was my best friend, once upon a time. Ten years can't have changed things that much...can they?"

  
  


Finn hated the doubt that he saw on his brother's face, but was powerless to prevent it. He was in the dark as much as Barry was. 

  
  


The car slowed, the tires scrunching over gravel. "We're back at base, anyway," said Finn. "Here, why don't you get in contact with my superiors and we'll figure out what to do? Maybe they've got some clue what's going on."

  
  


Barry nodded, opening his door. He stepped out into the bright sunlight, squinting. Then he began to laugh. "That's the base?" he asked incredulously.

  
  


Finn crunched through the late snow to join him. "So what? Who would ever suspect it?"

  
  


The log cabin sat at the edge of an old growth forest. The only access, Barry noticed, was the winding dirt road which their car had travelled. He looked more closely at the house. It looked innocent, idyllic even, with its sturdy construction, smoke rising from the stone chimney, and purple crocuses poking through the snow out front. But Barry's practiced eye caught some of the more obscure details: the small satellite transceiver hidden near the chimney, and the infrared sensors tucked unobtrusively in the log overlap. There were also laser motion sensors stretched across the base of each window, almost hidden from view by the window boxes in front of them.

  
  


Barry whistled appreciatively. This cabin was a fortress as far as surveillance equipment went. 

  
  


"Welcome to the headquarters of Ithilien Intelligence," Finn said. "It's not all in the house, of course. It extends underground for quite a bit. But we find that it suits our purposes." 

Finn was right, Barry decided. Anyone stumbling across II headquarters -or even somebody deliberately looking for it- would have a hard time guessing its true purpose. "I like it," he said aloud. "Very home-like."

  
  


Finn laughed. "Erin thinks so too. But come on inside. I'll ask my darling wife to make you a cup of tea and then we'll figure out what the hell we're going to do next."

  
  


At that moment the front door of the cabin opened. A young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, emerged. "Finn? You're back already? I thought I heard voices." Her gaze travelled to Barry, and she froze. 

  
  


"Well," she said finally, "I guess the honeymoon's over. Come on in, Barry. I suppose Finn has briefed you on the problem at hand."

  
  


Barry sighed as he followed the two into the house. The former son of Gondor knew that there was trouble to come, because somewhere in the world, there was an aeroplane filled with people he had to protect. And he didn't know where they were.

  
  


Inwardly, steeled himself for future hardships. He had died for their cause once before. He knew that if he had to, he would do it again. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


** Now lost, lost to those from the East is Valimar.

  
  


***Maybe thou shalt find Valimar. 

  
  


Both are two lines of a song sung by the elves of Lorien about the destiny of the elves to the West.


	7. The Devil is in the Details

Author's Note: 

Sorry that this chapter is so short, but there's not much to be said here. This part is dedicated to any poor student who has ever been chewed out by an irate teacher/professor/principal/administrative official. I understand that it's much the same anywhere you go. You people know who you are.

Also, we now present Dashiell, the resident throw-away character of the chapter. Again, a one-shot character who will more than likely never show up again. If you'd like, pretend he's the smart-ass from Gabe's class (Part 1, Chapter 10). Thanks once more to all reviewers, and on a final note, the next update will probably not be until next Monday, rather than Sunday. 

  
  


Cheers,

The Nightrunners 

  
  
  
  


The Devil is in the Details

  
  


"What do you mean, he isn't here?!?"

  
  


The raised voice echoed through the hallways of the administrative building. It shook the coffee cup on the desk of the office, also causing a chain-reaction that toppled the in-box into the garbage can. Throughout the building, people scurried away from the sound and uttered silent prayers of thanks that they weren't the ones in trouble.

  
  


The unfortunate focus of this ire was one Dashiell Barrack, a graduate student of Princeton University.

He was, at the moment, silently cursing the vagaries of fate that left him to explain Professor Gleason's ill-excused absence to an irate dean of science. He took a deep breath, and attempting to control his trembling, he replied:

  
  


"W-well, he asked me to cover his, his undergrad classes, just for a few days." Nervous as he was, Dashiell wasn't stupid, and he decided that his favourite prof needed some serious ass-covering. He also decided that there was no need to tell the Dean that Gleason had cancelled all his graduate classes, and his actual words had been 'several weeks', rather than 'a few days'. He also neglected to mention that there were two other grad students covering the classes, and by unspoken consensus, the students were keeping his absence quiet. Unfortunately, a few days was the most that a deception like this could hope to last, proven by Dashiell's summons to the Dean's office. 

  
  


The Associate Dean of Science of Princeton University, better known as Gabe's boss, was not a patient nor an easygoing man. Although, to be fair, under the circumstances, his reaction was somewhat understandable. He had, after all, just discovered that one of the Geosciences department's tenured professors had disappeared.

  
  


"Did he give you a *reason* for this absence?" The Dean's tone had gone rather icy, and Dashiell was certain that he would momentarily be quite dead.

  
  


"Well sir, he mentioned some 'family difficulties'." Dashiell continued quickly, as the Dean looked like he was about to explode once more. "He was not forthcoming with details. Private matter, I think. Very private." This, also, was not quite true. Gabe's actual words had run along the lines of: 'Dash, an old friend stopped by today, dug up an old problem that needs taking care of. Cover me, will you?' This, Dashiell figured, would not go over well with the school official, resulting in his creative re-interpretation of the explanation.

  
  


The Dean massaged his temples, making a visible effort to calm himself. "All right. So he's taking a few days off. How long has he been gone?"

  
  


Dashiell stiffened visibly. "Three days, sir."

  
  


The older man's patience seemed to be hanging on by one fraying thread. He spoke slowly: "And he hasn't spoken to you since then?"

  
  


"Um, no sir."

  
  


"And when were you planning on telling me he was gone, Mr. Barrack?"

  
  


The grad student swallowed nervously, sensing that he was venturing out on thin ice once more. He resisted the urge to tell the pompous Dean that he sure as hell wasn't the only one covering for Gleason, but simply the only one that had gotten caught. 

  
  


"We - I mean I- didn't feel it would really merit your attention, sir." He shrugged, trying to appear casual. "He's only been gone a few days, sir. I'm sure he'll be back soon, and you're so busy, I didn't really think-" 

  
  


"Professor Gleason and I are going to have a small discussion when he returns," the older man interrupted. The Dean's voice, frighteningly enough, had become almost gleeful. Mixed with the ever-present rage, it wasn't a pretty sight.

  
  


Dashiell thought that this wasn't entirely fair, and since he was the human sacrifice offered up by the collective of Gabe's students, he felt that he should at least do his best to defend the absent professor. "Actually sir, this is uncharacteristic of Professor Gleason. I mean, I've had him for six years, off and on, and I've never known him to miss a class."

  
  


This was a good point, and his concern here was genuine. He *was* worried, after all. Gabriel Gleason had bailed him out once, back in his second year. He certainly would have flunked out of the Earth Sciences program without the professor's help and extra tutoring. At the time, the man had struck him as a very good teacher, with a genuine liking for his students. Not at all like the arrogant Dean before him. Gleason sounded like he was dealing with some trouble, and Dashiell didn't like the fact that he hadn't heard anything in three days. *That* was unusual for the normally responsible teacher.

  
  


Unfortunately, the Dean didn't share his concerns. "I really don't care. Professor Gleason had better be back in his office by the end of the week. Otherwise. There. Will. Be. Trouble! Is that *clear*?" 

  
  


The Dean's voice reached a previously unrecorded volume, and Dashiell resisted the urge to cower under the desk. This had all seemed so simple a few days before, when his professor had asked for this 'small favour'. After all, he certainly owed the man enough favours. At the time, the request had seemed perfectly reasonable, though Dashiell had been struck by a strange thought. From deep in his subconscious, he'd seen an image of Professor Gleason attacking him with an axe, had he refused the request...

  
  


...Yet now, quaking under the might of the Dean's ire, Dashiell Barrack rather thought that decapitation was the better way to die, and was probably less messy... 


	8. The Moral Two, the Crazy Lady, the Angry...

Author's Note: Yay! We made the deadline (and from the threatening nature of some of the reviews, the Nightrunners imagine they would have been dead if this chapter hadn't made it up on time). But, to keep the loyal reviewers happy, or at least not homicidal, we post this warning now. The next chapter, in all likelihood, will not show up for about three weeks. We apologize most sincerely, but it's all we can do. (Incidently, Ivory Moon and Sun Queen are taking this opportunity to wish Eirual luck at the Canada Games. Synchronised swimming rocks, they say). 

  
  


Enjoy, 

The Nightrunners 

  
  
  
  


The Moral Two, the Crazy Lady, the Angry Young Men, and the Dead Guy 

  
  
  
  


The snow fell softly on the surface. There were several metres of it already on the ground, but this did nothing to detract from Mother Nature's beauty. Inside the car rental agency, several storeys down, a dozen people were lounging on the couches. Six sat together in one group; five of them appeared to be in fine health, but the sixth figure was causing some concern to the agency's other patrons.

  
  


"Non merci, Monsieur. On n'a pas besoin d'un medecin. Il est endormi."

  
  


Peter turned to look at Merry and Arwen, who were doing their best to screen Legolas from view. "I hope that Sleeping Beauty wakes up soon. Or that *somebody* with a more competent grasp of the language comes to our aide. Have you found the word for narcolepsy yet?"

  
  


Mark threw the French-English dictionary down in disgust. "I don't think there is one, Pip." Turning to Alice, he added, "Can't you *do* something about this mess? Cast a translation spell or something."

  
  


"Do I *look* like a Babel Fish to you?" At the blank looks from the four around her, Alice sighed. "Twentieth century literature, oh illiterate ones. It means I'm not a translator, and I can't do anything about it. In fact, I've never even heard of a translation spell before. We're just going to have to muddle through until Adam and Gabe get back."

  
  


Alice turned back to Legolas, where Sam and Felix watched anxiously. Leaning over, she began to murmur in elvish. Merry and Peter soon lost interest, when the elf didn't seem to respond to her in the slightest.

  
  


"Merry."

  
  


"Yes, Pippin?"

  
  


"I'm hungry. Do you have any food?"

  
  


"No Pip, I don't. I do happen to have a dollar with me. Go get yourself a bag of chips from the machine, there's a good lad."

  
  


"Felix," Arwen said, glancing up from her minstrations.

  
  


"Yes, M'lady?"

  
  


"Don't call me 'my lady', Frodo. People are going to look at you really funny if you insist on addressing me as that."

  
  


"All right then Arwen... Alice. Which am I supposed to call you?"

  
  


"Either one. It doesn't really matter. We're getting off topic anyway." Alice smiled, poison sweet. "Could you please go ask Adam and Gabe what *exactly* is taking them so long to get the *goddamn* car?!!"

  
  


The lights in the shabby but clean auto rental began to flicker. The four ex-hobbits looked with some alarm at Alice. Sam cautiously reached over and tugged on her sleeve. When he was sure he had gotten her attention, he pointed to the lights, and to the alarmed patrons . Alice shot them all a dazzling smile as the lights returned to normal. Most of them took the opportunity to shrink further away from the three scowling young men, the crazy lady, and the guy who appeared to be dead. Peter chose that particular moment to return to the happy little group, bringing the total of scowling young men up to four. 

  
  


"Merry," he began.

  
  


"*Yes*, Pippin?"

  
  


"You gave me an American dollar."

  
  


"Yes I did, Pip."

  
  


"The machine takes Euros."

  
  


"Maybe somebody will change it for you."

  
  


"Nah. There really isn't any point. They only have funny flavoured chips."

  
  


"What * are* you talking about, Peter?" Mark was starting to sound seriously annoyed, a product of both Peter's whining and really uncomfortable plastic couches.

  
  


"All they have is funny flavoured chips. One of the bags had 'Prawn' written on it. I'm not eating prawn flavoured potatoes chips!"

  
  


Felix decided at that point that he should probably go check on Gabe and Adam. Knowing Mark and Peter, they would probably be hitting each other with sofa cushions in a few minutes. 

  
  


************

  
  


"I've been in this city for five minutes, and already I hate it."

  
  


"Oh come on, it's not *that* bad. Besides, we're not even in the City yet."

  
  


Gabe and Adam were standing at the end of a very long line-up, which to Gabe's view had not moved for about twenty minutes. And one of the car rental employees had just gone on break. 

  
  


Gabe ground his teeth. He liked to consider himself a fairly easy-going person, but he was stuck in a small, too-brightly lit rental agency about three storeys underground somewhere on the very outskirts of the White City, and he was getting *pissed* off. Dwarves normally didn't mind the underground aspect, but he'd been shot at, stuck on a plane for eight hours, his best friend was quite possibly dying and... 

  
  


"Is it just me, or is it cold in here?"

  
  


"Well, there are access vents leading directly to the surface," Adam replied.

  
  


Gabe stared at him disbelievingly. "It's about fifty below zero up there, Celsius."

  
  


"Gabe, people drive their *cars* in the tunnels down here. Do you want to die of carbon monoxide poisoning? I certainly don't."

  
  


"True enough. Does this line get any shorter?" It wasn't that Gabe was particularly impatient, in general. However, his status back at Princeton was such that he didn't find himself standing in too many lines. It would generally fall out as: 'Why Professor Gleason! So good to see you! Come stand in front of me, sir!" He had just somehow, through no fault of his own, earned himself a reputation as the semi-hardass professor, the guy who you didn't want to get on the wrong side of. Consequently, the "Why Professor Gleason!"s abounded.

  
  


It wasn't his fault. Well, it was mostly not his fault. 

  
  


These jaded Parisians had no idea who the short, glowering man was, and likewise didn't care. What seemed like hours later, they were served by a bored-looking clerk who looked four hours short of a good night's sleep:

  
  


"Good day, monsieurs. How may I be of service?"

  
  


"Hi," Adam replied. "We'd like to rent a vehicle to carry-" he did a quick mental calculation, "-eight people."

  
  


"Indeed, monsieur. Will you be requiring a larger utility vehicle or will a luxury car be sufficient?"

  
  


Adam paused a moment to consider the company he was keeping. "Give me the largest, most durable SUV you can legally drive without a bus licence."

  
  


The rental agent nodded agreeably. "Very well. Shall monsieur require insurance?"

  
  


Nodding vigorously, Adam said, "Yeah, I think we may need it."

  
  


"As monsieur wishes."

  
  


Gabe nudged him. "Get the entire package, Adam. I'm sure we can file a claim with the elves later."

  
  


Suppressing a smile, Adam nodded. "Insure it for all it's worth, please."

  
  


The agent smiled politely as he punched the information into his computer terminal. "I will need to see monsieur's driver's licence, if you please."

  
  
  
  


//Here we go// thought Adam, taking a deep breath. He kept a straight face, sliding his *incredibly* outdated White City driving permit across the counter.

  
  


The rental employee picked it up, eyes scanning the information disinterestedly. //Don't look too closely, don't look too closely// Adam silently begged, hoping like hell the clerk was as bored as he looked. 

  
  


Not likely.

  
  


The agent looked at him appraisingly, then back at his picture. "This doesn't look like you," he stated.

  
  


Adam groaned inwardly, but offered an indifferent shrug. "I grew my hair a bit."

  
  


"Perhaps..." the clerk looked momentarily uncertain, but then frowned again. "This licence seems rather old, monsieur. We generally do not accept these. I'm almost certain that it would not be considered valid. Unless..." this hesitation seemed more sure, more deliberate than the last one.

  
  


Adam's groan was threatening to become audible. He leaned forward and asked through clenched teeth: "How much?"

  
  


"Pardon?" The damnable clerk looked innocent. 

  
  


"How much to make this licence valid, in your most expert opinion?" Adam asked sarcastically.

  
  


The clerk carefully maintained his wooden expression, but he leaned forward as well. "Five hundred euros, monsieur."

  
  


"Really?" Adam raised his voice. "I would like to speak to your manager, please."

  
  


"Monsieur?" The agent's face became panicked.

  
  


"Now." Adam's tone was steely. Behind him, Gabe stifled a grin.

  
  


Perhaps attracted by the raised voices, a distinguished-looking gentlemen emerged from a back office. "Is there a problem, monsieur?" he asked, his accent scarcely noticeable.

  
  


Adam spared a final glance for the doomed employee and then spoke to the manager. " I feel I am being extorted by an employee of your establishment."

  
  


"Monsieur?" The man's face revealed confusion.

  
  


" I was asked to pay a sum of no less than five hundred euros," Adam said, glancing to his companion for confirmation. Gabe, slipping easily into his role, nodded grimly.

"I cannot imagine that my employee would-"

  
  


"Check your security tapes if you do not believe me." Adam allowed his voice to rise another notch, and several heads nearby began to turn. 

  
  


Gabe snuck a glance at his companion, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Adam was actually *enjoying* himself, throwing himself into the part of the outraged, morally-upright customer. The New York City Police Force had deprived the stage of a great actor. 

  
  


His voice rose still louder. "I'm telling you that this man tried to cheat me! Just check your tapes!"

  
  


People behind in line began craning their necks to listen in on the argument. The manager flushed, took a quick look at the stricken employee, then spoke slowly, his voice purposely low and calm. "That will not be necessary." He spoke to the clerk: "Run the gentlemen's rental through. Now." Though his tone never changed, the threat was evident.

  
  


The would-be swindler stared at his boss, his forehead covered in sweat. "But monsieur-" he began.

  
  


"I said, do it. Now." The employee began helplessly punching in the information on the invalid driver's license. Turning back to Adam, the manager's expression was all courtesy. "I offer my most sincere apologies, monsieur. Rest assured that I will throughly investigate this incident-" here he shot a poisonous glance at the doomed con-man "- and I do not expect any further difficulties." He smiled graciously. "Allow me to offer you this rental free of charge, and let us forget this unpleasantness."

  
  


Adam smiled back, his manner warm. "Certainly. If we could have our keys and vehicle number, we'll be on our way." He neatly palmed his useless license from the counter.

  
  


"Without a doubt, monsieur," the manager replied. He reached under the counter, swiftly jotting information on a form, and handing it along with a set of keys to Adam. "Please enjoy your stay in the White City, monsieur."

  
  


************

  
  


The two men strode out of the rental agency to find their companions.

  
  


"You handled that well," said Gabe casually. Too casually.

  
  


Adam glanced at him. "Thanks."

  
  


"He didn't even make you sign anything, in his effort to get us out of there as quickly as possible. No records that way."

  
  


Adam looked at him warily. Gabe seemed to be dancing around some point. "I figured that was the idea. Good for us, at least."

  
  


"Very resourceful, I thought." He finally struck. "Kingly, even."

  
  


"Shut up," Adam replied wearily. "I'm not a king. I never was."

  
  


Gabe shrugged, rolling his eyes. "Whatever you say, Adam."

  
  


************

  
  


Sam was bored. It seemed like they'd been waiting in the lounge for * hours*.

  
  


"I can't handle this anymore! When are we going to get out of here? Can I at least go for a walk, *please*?"

  
  


Alice found herself very amused by the three ex-hobbits. They were squirming around on their seats like a bunch of kindergarteners on sugar highs.

  
  


"No, you can't go for a walk. It's minus fifty on the surface, not much warmer in the tunnels, and none of us brought winter clothes. You'd be a hobbit-on-a-stick before you got very far. What's wrong with you guys, anyway? You've learned patience, if not in this life, then certainly in your old one. Just sit tight. *Hopefully* Adam will have gotten us a car before the turn of the century." 

  
  


Turning around, she reached into her pack and pulled out a book. It was rather thick, and appeared to be in good condition. In fact, aside from several dog-eared pages, one could almost say it was untouched. There was a leather bookmark sticking out near the beginning. The three young men looked at Alice in shock as she settled in next to Legolas, and began to read.

  
  


"Um, Arwen, *what* are you doing?"

  
  


"I'm reading, Mark."

  
  


"Yes, well, I can see that. Okay, *what* are you reading?"

  
  


"Oh. The Lord of the Rings. I grabbed Adam's copy before we left his house. I don't think he's ever touched it before. He should, it's actually a great book." 

  
  


Her companions gaped at her.

  
  


"What? I know what happened to *me* while you were off trekking around the wilderness, but I thought I ought to refresh myself on what happened to you lot. It seemed like a good way to pass the time."

  
  


Mark nodded at her, having been mugged on memory lane. "My mom used to read to me from the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings, at bedtime, when I was little." He frowned, "I can remember having nightmares about what happened to Merry and Pippin, when they were captured by orcs. Mom told me that I just had an overactive imagination. I guess she was wrong, I had an overactive *memory*."

  
  


Peter smiled sadly at his friend, adding his two cents worth to the conversation. "I only ever read The Hobbit as a kid. You were the one who introduced me to the Lord of the Rings, I read it later, at the shelter school, remember? I always had a bad feeling about that ring Bilbo found, in The Hobbit. I can remember having arguments with my Dad about how he should have put the stupid thing back." An impish grin crossed his face. "Looks like I was right, too."

  
  


"Hold on a second. You're telling me that our past lives have been turned into a book? That we're characters in a paperback novel?"

  
  


Alice, Mark and Peter all turned to look at Sam. "You've *never* heard of the Lord of the Rings?" Alice asked, amazed.

  
  


"Well, I've heard of it, but never read it."

  
  


"Neither have I," Felix added.

  
  


"I think when we get into the car, the two of you should start reading. It's a pretty accurate account of our lives. It might help to straighten things out."

  
  


"Well," Felix replied dryly, "It certainly can't get any *more* confusing." 

  
  


  
  



	9. The Paris Underground

Authors' Note: Hey everyone! This chapter's up a little earlier than we expected, because Meg wanted to post before she left for the Canada Games. So you can blame her for the update. *grins* At any rate, this chapter's mostly description, but those who have a love for Paris should enjoy it. The Nightrunners firmly believe that Paris is the most romantic city on Earth, save Port-aux-Basques, Newfoundland. Look for it on a map! It's where the *ferry* docks! *please note extreme sarcasm*. Snuzzle-hugz to any reviewer who can pick out the Les Miserables references (book, not musical; gotta love Français 3204). Enjoy!

  
  


The Paris Underground 

  
  
  
  


"Adam, where the hell are we?"

  
  


"Oh, can't you just trust me for once? I know where I'm going. I used to live here, you know."

  
  


Adam didn't quite catch Sam's muttered comment. It was something along the lines of "Bloody ranger..."

  
  


Adam ground his teeth and tried to push the grey fog out of his brain. For a guy who'd spent much of the past week unconscious, he was feeling remarkably sleep-deprived. 

  
  


After having left the SUV and the comatose Legolas in a horrendously expensive parking garage in the heart of the Underground, the ex-Fellowship hit the pedways of Paris. Arwen, under slight protest, had stayed with Legolas. 

  
  


"Though I don't know what you expect me to do." she'd said. "If he dies, there's nothing I can do."

  
  


Adam had shrugged. "And if he wakes up, you want him to be alone and freezing in a SUV in the middle of a parking garage?"

  
  


Arwen had conceded then, had locked the doors and crawled in the backseat with the unconscious elf, curling her body around his to share warmth. He was still lying motionless, blue eyes open and staring into nothingness. Every so often, she'd lay her head against his slowly beating heart, just to reassure herself that he was still alive. Sitting in a cold car with a dying friend in an unfamiliar city really isn't a nice way to spend an afternoon.

  
  


Adam led Gabe, Felix, Sam, Peter and Mark across a crowded pedestrian walkway. Advertisements crowded the railings and the walls, which were relatively clean of dirt and graffiti. Parisians swarmed around them, taking no notice in their hurry. This pedway was actually a series of interconnected catwalks over eight lanes of speeding cars. The roar of the traffic was deafening. High overhead, vents slanted towards the surface, releasing the accumulated pollution and letting in fresh air.

  
  


"Christ, it's cold." Pippin had the hood of his sweatshirt flipped over his head, and had jammed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. "People actually *like* this city?"

  
  


One passing woman gave him an evil-eyed glare. Felix poked him in the ribs. "Keep your opinions to yourself, dumbass. Besides, I'm sure this isn't one of the nicer parts." He turned beseechingly to Adam. "Is it?"

  
  


Adam smiled. "This is Rue Saint-Denis, one of the major transit paths. Take a good look, I ruined my friend's Jag down there when I was seventeen years old. But anyway, like I was saying, the Underground is like a labyrinth, with tunnels running everywhere. You've got the Metro, that's the subway, elevators, roads, and pedways running all over the place."

  
  


Gabe cut in. "The surface is inhospitable, so everyone lives underground. It's like a big rabbit-warren."

  
  


"Or Moria." said Sam. He shivered as they passed under an air vent, a blast of cold air catching him solidly down the back. "So what happened up on the surface? I mean, we heard rumours during the war, but that was more than ten years ago. We were only kids."

  
  


Adam tugged at the collar of his coat against the chill. "About...fourteen years ago, a nuclear missile hit Versailles. The French government barely had any warning, but they rallied all the witches and wizards and mages, and they managed to throw up a massive shielding spell around the impact point. It contained most of the radiation, thank god, but a lot of dust and debris got thrown up into the atmosphere. The European Coalition managed to contain that too. Even now, they've got magic-users constantly maintaining a huge shield, keeping the debris from spreading through the atmosphere." He shrugged. "All in all, it could have been a lot worse. The one nasty side effect is that Paris and all the area in a two-hundred klick radius suffers from a year-round nuclear winter."

  
  


Gabe nodded. "The surface temp averages around -50 Celsius, and that's on a good day."

  
  


Felix raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't sound like a fun vacation spot."

  
  


Adam shrugged. "Yeah, but you know us Parisians, we persevere. Change the name, gradually expand the Underground, work our way deeper and deeper..."

  
  


The group was approaching a tall archway cut into solid rock. Adam grinned suddenly. "Are you guys ready for this?"

  
  


They passed under the archway, and entered another world.

  
  


Felix felt his eyes widen and he heard the other rockers gasp. They'd emerged onto another walkway, this one running perpendicular to la Rue Saint-Denis, along a wall of solid rock. The view that stretched out before them was mesmerizing.

  
  


"Welcome," he heard Adam say, "to the White City."

  
  


A huge open chamber had been carved out of the rock, stretching away overhead and under him for as far as he could see. More than a kilometre away, he could see the far wall, lined with pedways and elevator cars. Between them, buildings rose majestically from the cavern floor, connected by walkways and cables and balconies. There were small living complexes, huge skyscrapers rising all the way to the ceiling, and roads that wound around them, vanishing into tunnels cut through the rock walls.

  
  


Felix craned his neck upward and saw the sheer stone walls were studded with sunlamps, bathing the city with light. Even higher, he saw a glint of light off glass.

  
  


Adam followed his gaze upward. "The big businesses and the fabulously wealthy live up on the surface," he commented, "Where they can afford enough transparent aluminum to build atriums and towers and actually get to see the real sun, the bastards." He grinned, and there was satisfaction in the expression, the happiness an exile feels upon returning home. "This is the Quartier de Notre-Dame."

  
  


"Our Lady's Quarter," translated Gabe, for the benefit of the ex-hobbits, who were still staring in awe at the underground metropolis.

  
  


"The city is divided into Quartiers which are scattered about underground, connected by the transit lines, the Metro, and the pedways; you've got la Quartier de Gaulle, la Quartier Bonaparte, La Place Baptiste, and a few others. They all link together to form the Paris Underground." Adam joined the others at the rail and stared out at the sprawl of city.

  
  


"Cool."

  
  


Pippin pried himself away from the view. "So, what do we do now?"

  
  


Aragorn indicated a pedway that linked the wall to the nearest building. "First, we find a bank. I've got a numbered account that no one knows about." He winced. "I had some emergency cash stashed during the war. I left it here when I came to New York, and haven't accessed it since. No one will be able to trace it."

  
  


"Good idea," said Mark, chafing his hands together. "Can some of this money be used for the purchase of gloves? Or any cold-weather gear, for that matter? Hypothermia has never been high on my list of ways to die."

  
  


"Pansy," was Felix's comment.

  
  


"Shut up."

  
  


"I think we can manage that." Adam levelled a glare at the ex-hobbits. "We need to find an apartment, someplace where we can set up a base of operations. We don't know how long we're going to be here, we don't know who and where our allies are, and we don't know who's out to get us. We need a place to lie low while we scout around."

  
  


Sam nodded. "Plus, Legolas is still in bad shape. We've got to get him somewhere stable, at least."

  
  


Felix, ever the voice of reason, finished the thought. "What he really needs is a doctor who won't notice his, um, less-than-human qualities."

  
  


Gabe pushed his glasses higher on his nose. "In other words, where are the bloody Elves when you need them?"

  
  


Adam just shook his head. Sanity was well and truly gone now. Survival was the key issue, if only they could weather the storm that was coming. He led the others to another pedway, the Rue Plumet, and they vanished into the heart of the White City.


	10. Dirge for Thranduillion

Author's Note: Hello, loyal readers. You've whined about Legolas. We listened. Then we ignored you all! Bwahahahaha! Actually, we're joking. Here, for your reading pleasure, we present yet another scene from everybody's favourite elf-boy. Incidently, this chapter sees the return of the long-absent soundtrack, though we've only included part of the song, as some of it just doesn't apply to Legolas. Hmm...we haven't done that since we cut out part of Pink's "Don't Let Me Get Me" because it seemed cruel to compare Aragorn to Britney Spears (this is cruel to Aragorn, not Britney). Well, now that we've offended half of our reviewers, we should probably stop now. 

  
  


At any rate, we'll probably have another chapter up tomorrow. You hear? *Tomorrow*! So check back, and with any luck it'll be there.

  
  


On with the chapter!

  
  


Cheers, 

The Nightrunners

  
  
  
  


Dirge for Thranduillion

  
  
  
  
  
  


Soundtrack: Bed of Lies (Matchbox 20)

  
  
  
  


No I would not sleep in this bed of lies  
So toss me out and turn in  
And there'll be no rest for these tired eyes  
I'm marking it down to learning  
I am  
  
Don't wanna be the one who turns the whole thing over  
Don't wanna be somewhere where I just don't belong  
Where it's not enough just be sorry  
  
Don't you know I feel the darkness closing in  
Tried to be more than me  
And I gave till it all went away  
And we've only surrendered  
To the worst part of these winters we've made  
  
No I would not sleep in this bed of lies  
So toss me out and turn in  
And there'll be no rest for these tired eyes  
I'm marking it down to learning  
I am  


  
  
  
  
  
  


I wonder if this is death.

  
  


Somehow, though, it doesn't seem right. I always guessed death to be simple, a final nothingness. I can remember what happened, and I still have some confused sensory data coming through, so I don't think I've died.

  
  


...Yet.

  
  


It's all so fuzzy. I can remember grabbing the Witch-Queen, and I remember falling through the glittering shards of glass, my face buried in the demon-child's coat. I remember talking to the girl who used to be the Undómiel. I told her something about Paris, about what Glorfindel said...

  
  


And after that, there's nothing. Just a long stretch of darkness and a whole lot of pain. There was a blur of brightness and vibrations, strong vibrations all around me. The smell of dirt and metal, and closer, soap and aftershave. Then, again, nothing.

  
  


I had one vivid dream, that I was at Helm's Deep once more, with Adam. We talked, that much I know, but the details of the conversation elude me now. 

  
  


I felt cold; a deep, numbing cold. The chemical stench of gasoline and the stale taste of recycled air. It smelled like rock. A warm body next to mine, a gentle hand on my face. Then nothing.

  
  


All these were random, disjointed images that occasionally broke the darkness. Now, I'm lying somewhere warm, and I haven't moved in a long time. Someone is always nearby; I can hear them, smell them, sense them hovering there. But I can't make my eyes focus and I can't speak. My muscles won't even twitch. All I can do is lie here and try to breathe.

  
  


I know they all escaped New York, because they've all been here with me at one point or another. I've smelled Gabe's aftershave and Felix's hair gel. Peter cracks his knuckles when he thinks. Mark sighs and Sam paces. Alice hums to herself. Adam tugs compulsively at a lock of hair.

  
  


Yes, I *can* hear a human tugging their hair. Shut up.

  
  


I'm glad they all escaped. I just hope I'll be as lucky.

  
  


My mind is perfectly fine, if a little fuzzy in places. The pain has faded and left numbness in its wake. It's my corporeal form I'm more concerned with. If the body dies, the mind can only hold out so long. I've got a strong will -thirty thousand years of living *will* turn you into a real stubborn son-of-a-bitch, make no mistake. But, to be honest, examining the situation from a emotionally detached point of view...well, it looks like a one way trip to Mandos's Hall for me. This is our last stop. Will the last thought in the brain please turn out the lights...

  
  


...Wait a minute. There's no way I'm just going to give up. I didn't live though the Sack of Rome, the Black Death, the Spanish Inquisition, the French *and* Russian Revolutions, the Battle of Trafalgar, the Boxer Rebellion *and* all three World Wars just to die by jumping out a window with some hellspawned demon in the guise of a snot-nosed little brat!!

  
  


My apologies. I digress.

  
  


There *is* someone who can help me. There's someone who can bring me to Elrond and the other Elves. There's someone who can save my life. But only if the obstinate bastard can hear me calling.

  
  


So I focus every bit of will, every last shard of concentration that I have, and I call out to him. A mental scream into the void, if you will. Maybe he'll hear. Maybe he'll come. Maybe.

  
  


All I can do is lie here and wait. Though I'm beginning to realize...

  
  


It may be too late. 


	11. Precinct 111

Precinct 111

  
  


Soundtrack: Shoe box (Barenaked Ladies)

  
  


A key in the door, a step on the floor,

A note on the table, and a meal in the micro

Note says "I'm in bed, please make sure you're fed

If you're taking a shower, you can borrow my bathrobe

And when I'm asleep I dream you move in next week"

I crumple the note and save it to put inside

  
  


My shoe box

Shoe box of lies

Shoe box

Shoe box of lies

  
  


It's under my bed, it's never been read

It's in with my school stuff and my mom never cleans there

From the first little fib, when I still wore a bib

To my latest attempt at pretending at someone

Who's not seventeen and doesn't know what you mean

When talk turns to single malts, or stilton, or

  
  


(Chorus)

  
  


Did somebody tell you

This is how it's supposed to be?

Or did you just find it

And you don't want any more from me?

  
  


(Chorus)

  
  


Was it something I said, or was it something you read

That's making me think that I should never have come here

I can offer you lies, I can tell you good-bye,

I can tell you I'm sorry, but I can't tell the truth, dear

And if I could - would it do any good?

You'll still never get to see the contents of

  
  


(Chorus)

  
  


You're so nineteen-ninety

And it's nineteen-ninety-four

Leave this world behind me

'Cause you don't want me anymore

  
  
  
  


"...in other news, six people were hospitalized after a riot at a Necropolis nightclub, the Outer Limits. The unexpected cancellation of the popular underground rock band Green Dragon prompted ravers to riot. The Outer Limits was, unfortunately, burned to the ground. Doctors expect the injured fans to make full recoveries. Members of Green Dragon could not be reached for comment, and their whereabouts are currently unknown. I know if I had a club full of angry fans, I'd be hiding too, ha ha. Now, back to you, Susan."

"Thanks, Ted. It certainly shows the state of youth today, with the rising statistics of drinking and Flight use among the under twenty-five demographic. We've been taking calls all morning, and our listeners mainly want to know why the NYPD doesn't have a stronger presence in the streets..."

  
  


There were derisive jeers and shouts of "Turn it off!" from the various cops going about their business. One young woman, her hands full, hooked the radio's cord with her ankle and yanked it from the wall socket. 

  
  


Brenda Harrison, Police Secretary for Precinct 111, New York City Police Force, shifted the packages in her arms and rapped on Captain Daly's door.

  
  


"*What*?"

  
  


Brenda grinned to herself. Oh, the captain was having one of *those* days, the kind when it was best to keep you head down and refrain from making eye contact, and *maybe* you'd make it through to quitting time alive.

  
  


Well, this applied to everyone except herself, obviously. Secretaries are by nature diplomatic people, and Brenda was good at what she did. Fixing her face into a carefully blank expression, she opened the door and walked through, setting her still-warm packages on the cluttered desk.

  
  


Captain Daly was pushing fifty, with short dark hair and green eyes. She was wearing a glare that could cut diamond. "What is that?"

  
  


"Lunch." said Brenda, closing the door and settling herself into the chair opposite the desk.

  
  


Daly prodded the package cautiously, as though expecting cockroaches or a small thermonuclear explosion. Brenda sighed. "It's a souvlaki wrap from the place up the street, extra tomatoes. And I brought you a double espresso, four sugars."

  
  


The captain leaned back in her chair, pinching her nose to ward off a headache. "Fine, fine, what do I owe you?"

  
  


"How about a 10¢ pay increase and a half-holiday at Christmas?"

  
  


Daly finally cracked a small smile. "Thanks, Brenda. I needed that."

  
  


"You need the lunch too. So why don't you tell me what's wrong?"

  
  


Daly snorted. "Is it *that* obvious?"

  
  


"Well, you nearly made Duggan cry this morning, and Dunsmore's trying to super-glue her composure back together, and don't even get me started on Bown..."

  
  


The captain took a long sip of coffee. "I'm sorry. I really am. It's just been a horrible week, and I haven't heard anything from Gordon or Starr."

  
  


"No news?"

  
  


"Nothing. No call, no email. Hell, I'd be satisfied with a bloody carrier pigeon. They've literally dropped off the face of the earth."

  
  


The captain began rifling papers on her desk, a clear sign that she was upset. Brenda could only shrug. "They're two of the most dedicated people we have. I can't imagine that they just took off for no reason. Have you checked their apartments?"

  
  


"I've sent Laura and Alison to both buildings three times this week. Starr's landlord says he hasn't seen her for days, and Adam's sure as hell not been there. There's nearly a week's worth of unchecked messages on his answering machine, and the milk in his fridge is three days past the expiration date."

  
  


"That's weird."

  
  


"Weird's not even the word. The last time they checked Gordon's place, they found an address card for someone named Legolas. Mean anything to you?"

  
  


"No, I've never heard Adam mention him. Did they look him up?" Brenda picked up Adam's file from a leaning stack of papers and began to flip though it.

  
  


"Yeah, I had Avril and Rudkin check out his place yesterday. One of those old posh places down in the depths of Necropolis. They met his landlady." Daly winced. "A sweet old woman by the name of Mrs. Briggs."

  
  


"Why don't I like that tone of voice?"

  
  


"She let them in, sat them down, gave them tea and biscuits, then proceeded to talk their ears off for forty-five minutes before finally declaring that, no, she had no idea where Mr. Green had gone, that, no, his rent had been paid up 'til the end of the year, and weren't they kind to come and keep a old lady company for the afternoon."

  
  


"Oh, dear god."

  
  


"It gets better. She convinced them to have a look at the lobby bannister, it kept wobbling and the tenants were complaining, and with her eyesight and arthritis she wasn't up to maintenance like she used to be."

  
  


"Are you serious?"

  
  


"Completely. They finally reported back, after fixing the bannister, the hot-water boiler, *and* dropping off her library books. Rudkin looked like he was hypnotised for the rest of the day."

  
  


"Sounds like my Gramma. The militant old lady type. So, it appears that the old Address-in-the-Vacant-Apartment lead is dead. Have you contacted his family?"

  
  


The captain took another sip of coffee. "You're holding his file in your hands, Brenda. His parents are dead and he's got no listed siblings or other relations. There's no one *to* contact. We're stuck."

  
  


The secretary frowned. "It's hard to believe that we've worked with this man for years, but know next to nothing about him. He's such an open guy, too. I've heard him make some vague mention about having friends in Paris, but nothing else. What about Starr?"

  
  


"Her file's even thinner. Mind you, she only transferred in eight months ago, she was working down in the Bronx. But we asked around her old precinct, and they couldn't tell us anything either. Alice never was the soul-baring type."

  
  


Brenda raised her eyebrows. "That's a bit of an understatement. I believe the term 'Ice-Queen' would be more appropriate."

  
  


Daly frowned. "Be nice. She grew up in one of the Great Society orphanages. Showed some potential, so when the war broke out, she joined up with one of the majic training camps. Her file says she never saw service, though."

  
  


"Everything was probably blown to hell by the time she graduated." Brenda's face darkened. "I remember those days. God, they'd train anyone, druggies, psychotics, didn't matter. Then, bang, the war ends, and we've got streets full of mages crackling with killer spells and itching for a fight. The gangs form, the turf boundaries get drawn up, the chimaera start to get restless. Poor kid. I don't envy her, those camps were supposed to be like hell."

  
  


"Don't be silly, Brenda." The captain's voice dripped with contempt. "It was all for the Cause, don't you know? Had to show the damn necromancers who was boss, didn't we? Didn't matter how many lives got destroyed, how many kids got orphaned. Small price to pay." Her voice dropped to a growl. "I heard the Governor making that speech last week. 'Got to pull together for the good of the many, put ourselves and our city back together, the magic's clearly on its way out, everything will certainly be back to normal by next Thursday at the latest.' Easy for him to say when he's not the one trying to pick up the pieces."

  
  


Daly stopped then, and took a deep breath. A moment later, she sounded more composed. "I'm sorry, Brenda. I didn't mean to rant at you. I'm just on the edge. On top of everything else, there's Harry and the chopper. The divers recovered some wreckage, and Harry's remains, thank god. But Adam was supposed to go up with him that night! I didn't realize until I checked the duty roster, and that was *after* he disappeared. And no one in this precinct can *confirm* that Adam went up that night."

  
  


Brenda nodded. "I can see why you're worried. This is so completely out of character for Adam that it's scary."

  
  


"The chopper was attacked. The Forensics lab says it's obvious. Still trying to get a match on bullet fragments, though."

  
  


The secretary shrugged. "Back to Adam and Alice for a second. Did you ask the Seers? Maybe they'd be able to get a read on them."

  
  


Daly shook her head. "I already did. For once, all six of them actually *agreed* on something. They confirmed that neither of our missing cops are in the city."

  
  


"Shit."

  
  


The captain leaned back and ran her hands through her hair. "I don't know what to *do*! The guys from Internal Affairs have started to sniff around, and I can only hide things for so long before it becomes obstruction of justice. I'm *trying* to cover their asses, but if Starr and Gordon don't show up anytime soon, the nasty little IA twits are going to start asking questions. The kind that are really hard to answer and end with the two of them collecting unemployment insurance."

"Well..." Brenda had a worrying glint in her eyes. It usually meant someone else was going to get in a lot of trouble. "Starr's been working really hard on the Subway Kidnappings, the stress and the magic use just piles up, it's absolutely tragic, don't you know, studies have proven that witches are more susceptible to work-related depression than any other group, tragic, like I said, she desperately needed the time off, went out west to stay on her friend's ranch for a while, her partner so devoted to her needs that he took the time off to go with her, the sabbatical time that *you* approved. Isn't that right, Captain?"

Captain Daly was silent for a few moments. Then she spoke. "It really is vital to attend to the mental health of our magic-users, isn't it?"

  
  


"Of course, Captain."

  
  


"After all, a stressed witch presents a serious hazard to her co-workers, doesn't she?"

  
  


"Of course, Captain."

  
  


"It really wouldn't do for Internal Affairs to be investigating two of my best officers. Especially since I *approved* their sabbatical time, didn't I?"

  
  


"Of course, Captain. I'll fetch the papers directly, shall I?"

  
  


"Thank you, Brenda." 

  
  
  
  


  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  



	12. Possible Trajectories

Author's Note: Greetings, loyal readers. We offer our most heartfelt apologies for the abhorrent lateness of this chapter. Life conspiring against art again, you all know how it is. Hopefully the next chapter won't take three weeks to appear (cross fingers, cross toes, cross eyes, fall out of computer chair...).

  
  


Cheers, 

Jai, Dru, and Meg

  
  


Possible Trajectories

  
  
  
  


Soundtrack: Erin Shore (Traditional Irish, we recommend The Corrs, which is our only recording) 

  
  


The house was the epitome of a cosy country retreat, Hollywood's idea of a quaint summer home. Faded, overstuffed couches and chairs were scattered on the woven rug, encircling a battle-scarred coffee table that faced a large brick hearth. A thin metal staircase in the corner spiralled up to the loft room above. Morning sunlight streamed through the windows, warm rays where dust floated, perhaps seeking a new and exciting place to rest.

  
  


Not that it would have any difficulty in finding such a place. The entire house was jammed full of clutter, from scattered files to old newspapers to computer innards that just hadn't been put back in the hard drive yet. There were also several intact computers with large screens, old-fashioned power lines linking them all together. It certainly didn't look like an intelligence headquarters, which, Barry supposed, was the entire point. 

  
  


Barry watched as the new Mrs. Stuart threaded her way past the kitchen counter, somehow managing to squeeze past without starting an avalanche of debris. Pouring tea from a massive chipped pot, she handed out mugs of steaming liquid, then perched on one edge of the kitchen table. Finn and Barry settled into straight-backed wooden chairs and waited as she rifled through a computer printout.

  
  


Erin Stuart was one of those fortunate women who will look twenty five until the day she turns forty. Heavy waves of reddish-gold hair had been rather haphazardly secured at the back of her head by a pair of chopsticks. She had a bright, pretty face, and her body was trim and muscular. In short, she was the type who could fight off three armed muggers without breaking a sweat.

  
  


And she had a lovely smile.

  
  


His brother was a lucky bastard, Barry decided. He'd found a woman who could not only accept his rather more clandestine activities, but even take part. 

  
  


"Found it," she grinned, triumphantly hauling a printout from the mess on the table, seemingly indistinguishable from every other loose file. She scanned the information quickly, and then whistled softly. "According to Glorfindel, they should have shown up in Paris at least forty-eight hours ago."

  
  


"What airport?" Barry asked.

  
  


"De Gaulle."

  
  


"Then what's the problem?" Finn asked, running his hands through his hair. "Where the hell are they?"

  
  


"When you lost track of them, did you get their coordinates?"

  
  


"Of course," Erin replied

  
  


"Okay. Have you run an analysis on possible trajectories after you lost them?"

  
  


"We did," Finn affirmed, fishing out yet another file from under a plate of half-eaten muffins.

  
  


"I am in awe of your filing system," Barry remarked dryly.

  
  


Erin swatted him lightly, and took the readout from her husband. "Call this up on one of the screens, will you?"

  
  


Finn twisted in his chair, and punched a few commands on a nearby keyboard. A detailed map of Britain, the Channel, and the coast of France appeared on a computer screen, inexplicably located halfway across the room from the keyboard. 

  
  


Barry sighed and got up, careful not to spill his tea. He stared at the screen, willing it to tell him where his missing friends were. A solid red line marked the plane's trajectory previous to its disappearance, and after that, several hundred thin green lines radiated from the point, marking possible destinations. "Christ, they could be anywhere by now." 

Finn joined him beside the screen. "There were more trajectories, but we managed to eliminate a few dozen based on fuel allotments, landing space, and other logistical considerations."

  
  


"All right, let's try to get rid of some more." Barry sat still for a moment, considering. "Delete any that aren't headed for France." Erin, from across the room, punched in the command, and almost a hundred lines disappeared.

  
  


Finn shrugged. "That narrowed it down somewhat." Biting his lip, he continued, "Let's think about who we're dealing with. Narrow parameters to a twenty kilometre radius of the White City." As yet more lines vanished, he explained: "Think about who's directing their movements. Legolas knew the contact, and he knew where to go when they reached Paris, so we must assume that he's currently out of the picture. If it were Adam, he would have come looking for me or Barry. At least, I *hope* he would have. This isn't going to work very well if Adam doesn't trust us." 

  
  


In the silence that followed, both men could only think of the kid who'd been as close as a brother growing up, the son of Darryl's business partner. Hell, after Alex and Gayle had died, he'd practically *been* a brother. 

  
  


After all, wrecking a car and blaming it on another almost-sibling is a commonly shared bonding experience. 

  
  


Barry winced. He'd *liked* that Jag. 

  
  


Erin broke the silence. "Well, if it's not Adam, we can assume that either Gleason or Starr are leading them, and they wouldn't just run away."

  
  


Barry nodded. "They'd probably use a far more cautious approach." He glanced at the computer screen again. About twelve lines remained, yet even with so few, the possibilities for contact places were endless. "Right, so we'll assume they're in Paris by now. At the moment, our priorities are to get to the Fellowship before Sauron does."

  
  


"I think it's time to contact the elves again," Erin said by way of reply. "Finn, dear, would you patch through a secure communication line?"

  
  


Her husband moved to do so, but at that moment, a third screen began beeping. The words 'Incoming Transmission' flashed across, as all three moved towards it. "Looks like the elves had the same idea."

  
  


The image flickered to life, the requisite blurring around the edges demonstrating a secure link. The figure that swam into focus a moment later, however, was no elf. 

  
  


"Hello, Gandalf." Barry was suddenly nervous. Of Gandalf's many names (some of which were actually polite), Stormcrow had always struck Barry as the most apropos. Ithilien Intelligence rarely heard from the Istari unless something had gone *truly* wrong. "What's going on?"

  
  


The blue-eyed wizard smiled, but there was a touch of uncharacteristic worry in his expression. "Good morning, my dear Erin," he said by way of opening. "And to you, Barry, Finn." His brow creased. "I'm afraid we've got a bit of a problem."

  
  


"I'm really getting sick of hearing people say that," Barry muttered.

  
  


If Gandalf heard the comment, he gave no sign. "We think we've located the Fellowship. They're apparently holed up in an apartment in Quartier de Notre Dame."

  
  


"Has Sauron found them yet?" Erin asked quickly.

  
  


Gandalf shook his head. "We don't believe so. Barry, I need you back in the White City, quickly. I think that Adam could use a friendly face at this point. And from Legolas' previous comments to Glorfindel and Haldir, you might be our last chance on a certain score, the one that we discussed previously." His sharp eyes narrowed. "Do you understand?"

  
  


Barry nodded. "I can be back in a few hours."

  
  


"Excellent. I'll have Eric meet you at de Gaulle airport with the address and directions. As for our newlyweds," he continued, directing his attention to Finn and Erin, "I want the two of you out of Ireland by tomorrow at the latest. I need you to talk to Eric as well, then the three of you can coordinate with the Elves. Get some techs to monitor Sauron's communications -put your best people on it. Get them to focus on the White City area. I don't want to be caught off guard."

  
  


"Alright," Finn agreed. "We'll fly out with Barry today. Is there anything else?"

  
  


The wizard shook his head. "That's all. I'll contact you again when I have new information. I myself have to get to the apartment as quickly as I can."

  
  


Erin detected a new note of unease in his voice. "Why? What's happened?"

  
  


The old man sighed. "Legolas is dying. He threw himself off a third-level observation deck at JFK. It stopped the Witch-Queen, but now he's calling out on every mental frequency he knows." Gandalf winced. "It's somewhat like being assaulted by a psychic AM/FM radio when the tuning dial is being constantly turned."

  
  


"*What*?"

  
  


"Never mind. Good Lord, you people are young. According to the Elves' intelligence, we've got four ex-hobbits present and accounted for, one ex-dwarf alive and swinging, the King of Gondor who is still suffering from unfortunate memory lapses, and a woman they've identified as Alice Cassandra Starr. At any rate, we need the three of you in Paris as soon as possible."

  
  


"All right. We'll secure things here, get a few of our people in from Dublin, and catch the next flight out. Take care, Gandalf."

  
  


"As always. I will meet you at Goldenwood Enterprises before the end of the week." 


	13. Eight People In the Apartment From Hell

Ooo...Nice shiny new chapter. See we aren't dead, and contrary to what you may all have though, we also haven't given up on this story. This particular chapter has been hampered by sickness of both authors and betas, as well as the fact that Sun Queen and Ivory Moon have abandoned Eirual to go bask in the sun in Florida. Now this is a warning to all those who went through withdraw. Posting is going to be irregular for the next two months or so. Between final exams, and various trips, it is very unlikely that all three authors are going to be in the same province at the same time over the next little while. Please don't get upset with us, we haven't forgotten you, but life has happened to us and we can't really stop it. In the meantime the next couple of chapters should be relatively long. So, without further preamble, chapter 11.

The Nightrunners

  
  


Nine People In the Apartment From Hell  
  
Soundtrack : The Old Apartment ( Barenaked Ladies ) 

Gabe was not a morning person. Normally this wasn't a problem, because he lived on his own. In the case of his last few days in America, he'd been living in an apartment so big that it hadn't been an issue. He hadn't been a morning dwarf thirty thousand years ago either. The advantage back then was that he had done most of his travelling under cover of darkness, bypassing the morning completely. Of course, back then there had also been no wait to use the toilet. Showers were nonexistent, and doing one's business just about anywhere had been considered as "helping Mother Nature" in the grand scheme of things.  
  


"Alice, get the *HELL* out of the bathroom!"   
  


Thirty thousand years ago there had also been no need to delay morning ablutions on behalf of a primping elven princess, either.  
  


// I *knew* there was a reason we only brought one elf along on the Ring quest.// This was Gabe's only thought as he stood fuming in front of the *closed* bathroom door.   
  


"Shut up, Dwarf! I'm trying to dry my hair. I'll be out in a couple of minutes."  
  


Gabe had to pause for a minute in an attempt to unclench his jaw.  
  


"Why can't you do that in the kitchen?"  
  


"Why can't I do this in the kitchen? Mmm... let's see now. Oh *right*. There are two plugs in the kitchen. One of them has the fridge plugged into it and the other is currently producing coffee and toaster strudels on a regular ten minute schedule. Would *you* like to explain to the other six people in the house why the food has to stop? Besides, my hair is really long, and I'm brushing it as it dries. Didn't your mother ever tell you that it's really unsanitary, not to mention disgusting, to groom yourself in the kitchen? Go away, and I'll be out when I'm finished!"  
  


Gabe stalked off down the hall, hearing vaguely derogatory comments about dwarves being shouted over the sound of the hair drier. He was so preoccupied with his 'I'm pissed off' stomping, that he completely failed to register the forlorn figure huddled on the floor until it was too late. Gabe tripped and went sprawling. Realizing he'd probably permanently screwed up his back, the ex-dwarf turned to see what he'd tripped over.   
  


Peter was crouched in the hall, just outside the door to the storage room, which had been converted into a bedroom for Adam. He was covered in a floral patterned bedspread, which he had draped over himself like a tent. His eyes were fixed on a point on the wall in front of him, and he was slowly rocking back and forth.  
  


"Peter, what are you doing out here? You never get up this early."  
  


"Bed.... room...Evil. *EVIL*! Bad, bad...scarred for life. Never, ever *ever* want to see that again. Yuk!"   
  


"Right then. Why don't we get some coffee into you, and maybe *then* you'll be coherent. Up you get, hobbit."   
  


Gabe grabbed Peter by his upper arms and hauled him to his feet. As they headed towards the kitchen, they came across Mark, looking only slightly less frazzled than Peter, curled up in the armchair in the living room. As Peter caught Mark's eye, they both shivered, turning slightly green.   
  


"Mark, what 's wrong with the two of you? Why aren't you still asleep in your room like Sam and Felix?"  
  


Peter managed to choke out, "They are *NOT* asleep!"  
  


Mark felt the need to explain further. "Let me tell you a little story. Once upon a time, for a *very* short period of time, we shared a loft with Sam and Felix. We don't anymore. Would you like to know why? Let me tell..."  
  


"I don't need to hear *any* more of this, thank you. There are some things better left unsaid."  
  


"Well, it wouldn't be so bad if we could oil the mattress springs to keep them from creaking--"  
  


" SHUT UP!" Gabe was a strong proponent in the belief that some things were *definitely* better left unsaid.   
  


************  
  


While the hobbits were airing their dirty laundry, Adam stood on the balcony outside, staring out over the city he had abandoned ten years before. Their apartment was on the corner of the building, and so had a small balcony, with an ornate iron railing enclosing it. Their rooms were several levels up; glancing down, Adam could see two young men on the balcony below, sharing breakfast and conversing in French. Their voices rose on the morning air, adding a pleasant backdrop to the muted roar of distant traffic and the early morning voice of the city.  
  


Adam smiled to himself. Whatever the reason, it was nice to be back.  
  


He had a plaid blanket draped over his shoulders to combat the chill of the morning air, and was wearing several days worth of scruff. He was also drinking his coffee out of a neon pink Minnie Mouse mug. Alice, who had *finally* come out of the bathroom, emerged onto the balcony. The witch gave him one glance and wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh at him or give him a hug to cheer him up.  
  


"Adam, come inside and get some breakfast. Merry and Pippin just got up, so we might want to eat soon."  
  


He turned to see his partner, standing on the threshold of the apartment. Alice glowed in the early morning light, framed by the shadows of the doorway. She was barefoot, wearing her jeans and her blue tank top. Over this, she had thrown what looked suspiciously like *his* bathrobe. She had left her hair down, and small curls were blowing across her eyes in the gentle breeze. Adam reached out instinctively to brush the hair away from her face...  
  


" Estel," she breathed, leaning towards him.  
  


...and he let his hand drop.  
  


"Come on," he said suddenly. "We'd better go eat before all the food is gone."

Adam brushed past her, heading towards the kitchen door, leaving a very confused witch behind.  
  


********  
  


The ex-Fellowship sat in various attitudes around the kitchen table. Sam and Felix, who were looking *very* well-rested, were perched on the counter, eating toast with peanut butter and bananas. Mark and Peter were both on their third cup of coffee. Alice was toying with the tea-bag in her steaming mug, and Adam was sitting next to her, tugging absent-mindedly at a lock of his hair. Gabe came into the kitchen and sat down.  
  


"Legolas hasn't woken up yet. There's been no change, so I guess it can only be a good sign. At least he hasn't gotten worse."  
  


Alice nodded. "We need to track down the Elves. It's really the only choice we have." She turned to Adam. "Do you have any contacts here?"  
  


Adam shrugged. "That's the real trick, isn't it? Most of my friends were connected in some way to White City Enterprises, and we don't know if they're trustworthy or not. If it were just me, I'd track them down, but I'm not willing to risk Legolas or any of you. Because if I'm wrong..."   
  


The cop went silent for a moment. You could almost see the wheels turning in his head: if he *was* wrong, and his almost-family and friends were working for the other side now, what would he do? Where would it leave him?  
  
  
  


Gabe broke the silence. "At any rate, we've been here for three days. I think it's time to do a little reconnaissance."  
  


"What do you want to do?" asked Sam. He frowned in thought. "We'll have to search for the Elves, that's for sure. But what else?"  
  


Adam glanced up from his coffee. "We should do a bit of scouting around White City Enterprises, see what we can come up with there. See which way the wind's blowing, so to speak."  
  


Marked wandered over to the counter and snagged a strudel . "We should also poke around some of the magic hotspots, the mage bars, see what's going on in this city. We can check to see if there's been a rise in Dark magic recently."   
  


Felix nodded. "It's a good idea. But should we stay together, or split up?"  
  


"Strength in numbers," Alice said, "Plus, Adam's the only one who knows the layout of the city."  
  


Peter looked thoughtful. "But a big group wandering around is a lot more obvious, and a better target."  
  


"I agree." said Gabe. "Besides, we'll get more accomplished if we split up."  
  


"Okay," said Alice. "Mark, Peter, do you two want to go check out what sort of magic's been floating around here recently? You've had some experience back in Necropolis, and neither of you have mage-killer tattoos. Just keep your heads down, and try not to piss anyone off, okay?"  
  


"Will do."  
  


"Sam and I can do some sniffing around White City Enterprises, ask some questions-"  
  


"They're not going to have a big 'We're Allied With a Dark Lord!' banner hanging in their lobby, you know."  
  


Felix shot Adam an evil glare. "Making sarcastic comments is Peter's job, not yours. We'll be careful."  
  


"All right." Adam glanced around. "That leaves Gabe, Alice and myself."  
  


"Someone has to stay here with Legolas." Gabe interjected. "It's not safe to leave him alone. I'll stay here, and you two can get out together and see if you can find the Elves."  
  


Adam stared at Gabe, the dwarve's expression was just a little *too* innocent. //I'm going to have to talk to that man...//  
  


"Okay," said Alice. "I guess that's settled. Oh, wait-" she hurried out of the kitchen and came back carrying a paper bag. She dumped the contents on the table. "Cell phones. Adam picked them up yesterday," she smirked. " We're not allowed to ask where he got them or why they have no serial numbers."  
  


The ex-Fellowship picked up the phones, dropping them into various pockets. "They've been programmed with each other's numbers. If you get lost, or get in trouble, make sure you call for help." Adam said as he snapped his phone shut and slid it into the pocket of his jeans. "They're a little tricky to work underground, you can't get reception in some of the tunnels. They work better closer to the surface. If you get *really* lost, find one of the Information Terminals. They're *everywhere* in this city. This is le Quartier Notre-Dame, Bloc 709. Use the Metro if you need to get to any of the other Quartiers. And for God sake's, if you get caught, play the Stupid Tourist."   
  


"Okay. We can do that."  
  


"Try to keep a low profile," added Alice. "We all know who's out there, and we've already seen that they won't stop at anything to kill us. Be *careful*."  
  


So the various members of the long-dead Fellowship dispersed; the rockers heading for the door, Gabe for the room he shared with Legolas, Alice to her stash of clothes, and Adam to the bathroom to shave. The last thing the hobbits heard before the door closed behind them was Alice calling, in her best Patronizing-Mommy voice:  
  


"And put on more clothes! It's *cold* out there!" 


	14. Old Haunts

Authors' Note: The Nightrunners are not, in fact, dead. Huzzah. Yes, we are back with yet another chapter for your reading enjoyment. Aren't we wonderful people? This chapter would have been up earlier today, but instead Meg and Jai had a hissy argument about the definition of philology, and how this differed from phylogeny. Turns out they were both right about philology: Jai claimed it meant study of classical literature, and Meg countered that it meant phonetics and language. Some interminable time later, a trip to www.dictionary.com managed to supply a satisfactory definition: "the humanistic study of language and literature". That way, both Nightrunners #1 and #3 were satisfied, and life went on its cheery little way. Nightrunner #2 ignored them both and read X-Men. And, look, you've all *learned* something today. Isn't that nice? Who says that fanfiction isn't educational? Anyway, without further ado, we present...

  
  
  
  


Old Haunts...

  
  


Soundtrack: Disappear (Jars of Clay)

  
  


  
  


"Don't worry, all right? We'll find them, and get you back on your feet as soon as we can. You just rest up and get better by yourself while we're gone."

  
  


Adam almost smiled at the sight of his partner leaning over Legolas's bed, whispering encouragements. With a final squeeze to his hand, she rose from the bedside and joined Adam. Heading to the front door, they passed Gabe in the living room.

  
  


"You're gone, then?"

  
  


"Yep. Off to find some pointy-eared people with an affinity for trees. Shouldn't be too hard to do in a city of a little over three million people. I mean, we can't be looking for more than a dozen of them. It won't be *hard* or anything."

  
  


"Buck up, Adam," Gabe called out. " You could be stuck here with only Sleeping Beauty for company. "

  
  


"You're right. Alice is better company, and she's pretty enough to keep anyone entertained."

  
  


Dodging a smack from Alice, Adam grabbed his gun and scooted out the door. Gabe sighed as the door closed with a resounding bang. He hoped they'd find the elves in time. 

  
  


Legolas was one of the few people he couldn't bear to lose. 

  
  


************

  
  


" So I'm entertaining to look at, am I?"

  
  


These were the first words out of Alice's mouth as she and Adam headed deeper into the Quartier, towards the Metro. She was amused to note that Adam still had the good grace to blush at her question. "Never mind. Where are we headed? You're the native here, so it's probably your call on this."

  
  


"Well, I would say that the first place we should probably look is the downtown area, that way, I figure..."

  
  


Alice tuned out Adam's rambling and turned her attention to her own musing as they walked down the stairs into the equivalent of the subway. 

  
  


// If I were still an elf, where would I hide? Somewhere that I didn't have to come in contact with the humans too often. They don't like us very much, and unless things have changed drastically, I don't think ""Ada"" would be willing to become too involved. So we're looking for a bunch of isolationist elves, who have had millennia to hide themselves. Oh gods.//

  
  


Her inner monologue was interrupted by Adam saying something that was actually pertinent. 

  
  


"The business card Legolas left directions on had 'Goldenwood Enterprises' written on it. There were some addresses and some funky writing I couldn't read."

  
  


"You're sure it was 'Goldenwood' ?" Alice asked him sharply.

  
  


"Positive." 

  
  


She threw her up hands in the air. "'Goldenwood', honestly. I never really thought about it before. I guess that was the point. By the Valar, could they *be* any more arrogant? Grandmother came up with that one, I'm sure of it."

  
  


Adam was looking at his partner with some concern. Usually when she started to rant like this, it was a precursor to someone getting hit with a lightening bolt.

  
  


"Um, Alice? People are starting to stare. Why don't you just sit down, rewind, and repeat the last part of that monologue with explanations included. Please?"

  
  


Alive blew a stream of air out of her pursed lips. "Right. My best guess is that it wasn't a coincidence that the directions to Legolas's apartment were written on a card from Goldenwood. When Arda still existed, one of the greatest, or perhaps *the* greatest elven haven of the land was the wood of Lothlórien, known in the common tongue as the Golden Wood. My grandmother was Queen of that realm. My guess is that she is one of the founders, and possibly a current senior member of 'Goldenwood Enterprises'. It all makes perfect sense. It would allow them to control the amounts of money they'd need to keep their privacy and their way of life."

  
  


"Arda? Where's that?"

  
  


Alice rolled her eyes, sighing impatiently. "Valar, grant me patience. Never mind where Arda was, I don't have time to explain it to you right now. What we need to do is find the branch of Goldenwood here in Paris. Do you remember any of the addresses on the card?"

  
  


"No. Besides, there are at least twelve different branches of Goldenwood Enterprises in Paris alone. It's a huge company, and we don't even know if the people we're looking for are in this country. I can think of at least seven other countries that Goldenwood operates from, and I'm sure there's more." 

  
  


"Well, in that case we're going to have to go to *each* branch here in the city and make some discreet "inquiries" to see if we can find who we're looking for."

  
  


"I'm taking it on faith here that *you* know who we're looking for, because I don't have a clue."

  
  


Alice once again had to resist the urge to beat her head off the wall. Or better yet, beat *Adam's * head off the wall. "Yes, I know who we're looking for. Any elf will do, actually. All we need to do is find one, then they can tell us how to get in contact with Grandmother or Father."

  
  


"Right then, let's get started."

************

  
  


Many hours later, Alice's frustration was beginning to show. 

  
  


"*Twelve* different buildings, in five different Quartiers, and *did* we find any bloody stupid elves? *NO*. "

  
  


"Alice, if you don't calm down, you're going to kill the power on this block for the next couple of hours. And considering that we're deep underground in a train, killing the power is not the best idea right now. " 

  
  


"Stop being so damned reasonable, Elessar!"

  
  


"I haven't heard you call me that one before. Listen Alice, I'm sorry if I'm being irritating, but it's true. You know, there was no need for you to threaten that poor clerk in the last building."

  
  


"She was being a *twit*." 

  
  


"I know, love, but it wasn't very nice. I don't think her boss was too happy that he had to send her home."

  
  


Adam looked across the train carriage at his partner. "Come here." Alice slid across to sit next to him, and looked up, wondering what he had in mind. "Just look out the window for a minute."

  
  


Puzzled, she did as Adam requested, and nearly jumped off the seat when she felt his hands on her shoulders.

  
  


"Adam, *what* are you doing?"

  
  


"I'm trying to get the enormous tension knot out of your shoulders." He held up a hand. "Yes, yes, I know. You don't reciprocate my feelings, let's just be friends, blah blah blah. I'm not trying to hit on you or anything. Well," he paused. "Actually, I am, but we're on a public train. It's neither the time nor the place, I know. I'm just doing it because you're *you*." 

  
  


"Oh." Alice looked slightly unsure of how to respond. "Well, thank you."

  
  


"That, and your neck is starting to disappear."

  
  


She laughed, and elbowed him gently in the stomach. 

  
  


After a few minutes of semi-companionable silence, Alice turned around. "So what do we do now?"

  
  


"Actually, I *do* have an idea. You'll have to trust me, though."

  
  


"What is this grand idea ?"

  
  


"A surprise."

  
  


************

  
  


The first thing Alice saw was the ice rink. It was enormous, stretching away at least half a kilometre. The architecture was Roman; the rink was surrounded by marble archways, carved pillars and statues. High above the smooth white surface, sun lamps filled the arena with natural light.

  
  


The rink was crowded with skaters, spinning, flying, laughing; some would circle the main rink once, then vanish down one of the dozens of side-paths. Adam came up behind her. "Those are the ice transit paths. You can follow them all over the city."

  
  


"Really?" 

  
  


"Hey, it's faster than walking."

  
  


"But Adam, *why* are we at a skating rink? In case you forgot, one our friends is dying back in our apartment, and he's depending on us to save him." This rebuke was delivered while her back was still turned to him. As she turned around, she couldn't help but think, quite wistfully, of how much fun it would have be to relax and go skating. Then she noticed what Adam was carrying. "You brought me here to *skate*?"

  
  


"No, Alice, I brought you here to go swimming. Yes, to skate. This isn't just any skating rink. It's *the* skating rink. Paris boasts the largest indoor rink in the world. And as it happens, I used to spend a great deal of my time here when I was younger. I figured if we can't go to the Elves, then maybe they'll come to us. We'll go to some of my old haunts, be fairly visible, and see what happens." Seeing that she was almost convinced, Adam used his final argument. "I know it isn't Central Park, but you never know, you might actually have some fun ."

  
  


Alice sighed, though she couldn't hide a glimmer of anticipation. "All right then. I suppose it couldn't hurt. But no making fun of me when I fall on my ass, or I promise you'll regret it."

  
  


"Believe me, Arwen. If anything happened to you, I'd be the last person to laugh."

  
  



	15. and New Friends

Authors' Note : Hello ladies and gentlemen. See, we haven't forgotten about you, we've just been away from our computers for the last little while. Hopefully this chapter will prove to be entertaining...and plot developing. We aren't trying to drag this out, we promise. Our muses have just been on stress leave for the last month or so. Sorry. Enjoy the chapter.

The Nightrunners

  
  


...and New Friends

Soundtrack:

  
  
  
  


"Miss Sarajevo"  
  
Is there a time for keeping a distance   
A time to turn your eyes away   
Is there a time for keeping your head down   
For getting on with your day   
  
Is there a time for kohl and lipstick   
A time for cutting hair   
Is there a time for high street shopping   
To find the right dress to wear   
  
Here she comes   
Heads turn around   
Here she comes   
To take her crown   
  
Is there a time to walk for cover   
A time for kiss and tell   
Is there a time for different colors   
Different names you find it hard to spell   
  
Is there a time for first communion   
A time for east 17   
Is there a time to turn the mecca   
Is there a time to be a beauty queen   
  
Here she comes   
Beauty plays the crown   
Here she comes   
Surreal in her crown   
  
[Pavarotti]  
Dici che il fiume   
trova la via al mare   
E come il fiume   
giungerai a me   
Oltre i confini   
e le terre assetate   
Dici che come fiume   
come fiume   
L'amore giunger   
L'amore   
E non so pi pregare   
E nell'amore non so pi sperare   
E quell'amore non so pi aspettare   
  
  
[Bono]  
Is there a time for tying ribbons   
A time for Christmas trees   
Is there a time for laying tables   
When the night is set to freeze  


  
  
  
  
  
  


"That was fun."

  
  


"It was." 

  
  


Anyone who'd been tailing them would have smiled at the couple, and a little romantic whimsy in their hearts would have sighed. Paris, the city of lovers.

  
  


Of course, one of these lovers tried to kill the other on a regular basis, but that shouldn't have been held against them.

  
  


Alice had unconsciously slipped her hand into Adam's as they left the skating rink. She wondered if it was Adam or Aragorn walking with her down the crowded pedway in the fading afternoon light. Ultimately, she decided she didn't care.

  
  


"So what should we do now?" she asked as they dodged a gaggle of laughing teenaged girls. 

  
  


"There's a café a few blocks away where I used to hang out with some friends. We could make an appearance, see if the Elves are watching there."

  
  


Alice turned to look at him, but her patented glare had lost its effect on Adam some time ago. "Are you asking me out?"

  
  


"Will I get smacked off the wall if I say yes?"

  
  


She thought for a moment. "I haven't decided yet. Probably."

  
  


"Even still...yes, I am asking you out."

  
  


She smiled, just a little bit. "Lead on, Gordon."

  
  


The café was small, dark, and packed with kids on the way home from school. Rock music was blasting from speakers, and they had to yell to be heard over the laughter and conversation of teenagers.

  
  


Alice grinned as she sipped her latte. "Great place, Gordon."

  
  


Adam laughed as he punched her arm. "Shut up. Last time I was here, it wasn't infested with kids."

  
  


"Last time you were here, you *were* a kid."

  
  


"Don't mock me." He smiled. "I'll be back in a second. I have to run to the washroom."

  
  


"Don't get lost, Ranger of the North."

  
  


He threw a glare over his shoulder and vanished around the corner towards the washrooms. Alice was leaning across to the next table to snag a newspaper when something odd caught her eye.

  
  


There was a pretty young woman sitting at one of the corner tables. She had reddish-blond hair and was reading a magazine. Although she was the picture of innocence, she somehow set alarm bells ringing in Alice's head.

  
  


The witch picked up the newspaper and pretended to read, but she sent a surreptitious seeker spell flitting over to the corner table. The results came quickly, flashing through her mind, though she kept her features carefully impassive. Female, younger than her, didn't smell of magic or Flight or anything unusual, but there was something that wasn't quite...right about her. Apart from herself and Adam, Redhead was the only adult in a café overrun with kids.

  
  


She looked almost familiar.

  
  


Alice took a sip of latte. Was it her imagination, or was the woman watching her? Call it witch's intuition, but Alice was getting jumpy. Was she one of the Nazgul?

  
  


Alice mentally replayed the scene at the JFK. Was the woman there? Was she one of the Nine?

  
  


So caught up in the memory, she almost jumped out of her skin when Adam laid a hand on her shoulder.

  
  


"Hey, easy, easy! It's only me. What's wrong?"

  
  


Alice stood up, smiled as though they were talking, but the look in her eyes was urgent. "There's a woman over there--no, don't look! She's sitting in the corner and she's watching us, I know she is."

  
  


Adam nodded, maintaining a smile that no longer reached his eyes. "Okay. Let's get out of here." He slipped an arm through hers and they threaded their way out through the mass of teenagers towards the door.

  
  


They were nearly a block away when Alice cast the seeker spell again. "She's forty feet behind us. There's two men with her now. Don't look back."

  
  


"Are they getting any closer?"

  
  


"Yes. Are you armed?"

  
  


"Yeah, I have my gun and one of Gabe's knives. You?"

  
  


"Knife. In my boot. They're thirty feet behind us now."

  
  


"Okay, here's what we'll do-"

  
  


"Twenty-five feet-" she said sharply.

  
  


"We'll break, you head left down the alley, it'll take you to le Boulevard Ste. Catherine. It'll lead you deeper into the Quartier-"

  
  


"Twenty feet-"

  
  


"I'll break across the street and lead them towards the eastbound Metro tunnels. Try to lose pursuit, and don't go back to the apartment unless you're sure they're gone-"

  
  


"Fifteen feet, be careful, Adam-"

  
  


"You too-"

  
  


"Ten feet, ready?"

  
  


"Now!"

  
  


************

  
  


"Shit!" Erin could only watch as the pair suddenly broke apart and tore off in opposite directions.

  
  


"Oh, *damn*." Finn caught her arm and pulled her along. Beside him, Barry broke into a sprint. "We'll take Adam. You follow the girl- shit, that's Arwen! They must think we're dark agents, otherwise, they wouldn't be running."

  
  


"Wait a minute! How come *I* have to take the witch?"

  
  


"Well, you can have a girl talk!" Barry, unfortunately, seriously lacked comprehension of the female psyche. Erin spared him a withering glance, and he continued hurriedly. "Besides, Adam's our brother, or close enough. He'll listen to us." 

"Well fine, but we can't lose them again. If they vanish, God knows how long it'll be before they surface again! Go! Be careful!"

  
  


Erin watched her husband and Barry vanish across the street in pursuit of their almost-brother, who he hadn't seen in ten or thirty thousand years, depending on the point of view. She growled a few creative curses on both their heads before she turned and bolted up the alley after Arwen. 

  
  


Erin had never fought hand-to-hand with a witch, but she was about to get a first and painful lesson.

  
  


As she rounded the corner of a second alley, hot on the tail of Arwen, Version 2.0, she skidded to a halt. There was no sign of the witch, but a flicker of movement alerted her to a presence overhead. Instinctively, she glanced up.

  
  


Arwen grinned at her and dropped a loaded garbage can. 

  
  


She leapt sideways, but the heavy metal can clipped her and sent her spinning towards the alley wall. Arwen floated to the ground some distance away; she threw a glance over her shoulder and began to run again.

  
  


Erin extricated herself from the mass of garbage bags, and took up pursuit again, but with considerably more caution. The II files had ranked Arwen as a Class 2 Elemental Spellcaster. In the range of offensive possibilities, that could mean fireballs, wind, water, or lightning, all combined in new and nasty ways. It also meant a lot of magical endurance; she could probably fight for quite a bit before she'd be tapped out.

  
  


So Erin just continued to follow at a fairly good clip, considering the hit she'd taken. The witch was half a block ahead, dodging startled pedestrians as she wove her way across the pedway. At the moment, Arwen was obviously more concerned with fleeing than fighting. Erin guessed she was trying to lead her away from the Fellowship's apartment, which also explained the tactic of splitting off from Adam. 

  
  


//I'll just have to wear her down. If I catch up with her now, she'll just hit me with a spell before I get close enough to reason with her.// Erin swerved to avoid a cyclist, who shouted abuse over his shoulder, all in French, probably impolite.

  
  


Ahead, Arwen had reached a Metro station. She continued down the steps, heading deeper underground. Erin followed her down. 

  
  


The station was deserted except for a few late-afternoon commuters standing at the far end. Arwen was nowhere in sight, but Erin spotted the characteristic flicker of the ceiling lights. She wasn't about to fall for the same trick twice. As she reached the bottom of the steps, Erin used the rail and her own momentum to vault upward. Her right hand caught a handhold in the rough stone, and she used her other to reach around the top of the doorjamb on the other side.

  
  


She hit pay dirt. There was a startled gasp, and Erin yanked down hard and swung her legs at the same instant. Both feet connected with Arwen's midsection, and the witch flew a few feet into the station before crashing to the floor. She'd been hovering over the door, hoping to pull the same stunt that she had in the alley. 

  
  


Arwen managed to turn the fall into a shoulder roll, and she still had enough of a lead over Erin to recover her balance. Tumbling to her feet, she pivoted and cast a spell.

  
  


The agent dodged, expecting a lightning bolt, but nothing happened. Instead, the lights overhead whined and blew out, throwing the station into darkness.

  
  


There were some startled screams from the Parisians at the far end, and a low sound that might have been a laugh. Then the ring of footfalls, the sound of a body jumping, say, off the subway platform and onto the tracks. A voice floated out of the darkness. "Hey honey, catch me if you can."

  
  


//Mother Mary, she's fucking insane!//

  
  


Erin's eyes had nearly adjusted to the gloom, and the incandescents within the tunnel beckoned her. The Metro tunnel yawned like the mouth of some great shadowy beast; Arwen's bootheels were echoing, fading away as she lengthened her lead.

  
  


Erin ground her teeth, leapt onto the tracks, and followed the witch into the tunnel. "There's no *way* I'm getting paid enough for this."

  
  


**********

  
  


Nearly fifteen minutes later, Erin had revised her approximation of Arwen's mental state. //Not only is she insane, she's sadistic, too.//

  
  


The witch had purposely led her on a merry chase straight into the bowels of Paris. Erin kept running, following the distant figure by the light of the flickering tunnel incandescents. Occasionally, she would dodge as Arwen sent a spell over her shoulder, but the witch was obviously tiring. Her spells were coming with less frequency, and with considerably less strength. One dodge hadn't been quick enough, and a lightning bolt had hit Erin's shoulder; fortunately, it had done little more than send a buzz through her system and stand her hair up a little.

  
  


Arwen's pace had slowed as well. Erin had seen her stumble, one arm wrapped around her bruised side, from where Erin has kicked her back at the station. It might be a ruse, to draw her pursuer in close enough to be taken out with one good spell. Even a well-thrown knife would do the trick.

  
  


//Doubtful, though. She's been intent on running, not on fighting. She's trying to lead me as far off-course as she can. But she's getting tired, drained...if I corner her, maybe I can get her to listen to reason.//

  
  


Erin grimaced as sore muscles in her legs and back made their presence known, most emphatically. //Either that, or she'll do something *really* crazy.//

  
  


The tunnel branched off several times, and Erin simply focussed on following her target, staying far enough behind to avoid any magical strikes, but close enough to stay on her tail.

  
  


The witch stopped dead in the middle of one intersection. Her head snapped to the right, and a sudden burst of adrenaline seemed to surge through her. Legs pumping, she tore around the corner into the narrow right passageway.

  
  


Erin followed close behind, confident now that she could win this chase. She rounded the corner...

  
  


...and her heart nearly stopped as she felt an icy wind blast up around her. Not a spell, but something much, much worse.

  
  
  
  


A Metro train was bearing down on the two women, its running lights filling the tunnel with a blinding glare. 

  
  


It was less than a hundred yards away, and closing fast. 

  
  


"Shit!" Erin could barely hear herself over the scream of the wind and the roar of the train. Just a few feet ahead of her, Arwen managed to power a leap with a quick levitation spell. She found two handholds in the mass of pipes that ran along the ceiling and hung there like a spider.

  
  


Erin felt her brain blank in panic; then instinct took over. She scrabbled frantically up the rough stone walls, tearing her fingernails and the skin of her hands. She heaved herself from the wall as the train bore down on her, praying she'd had enough momentum to reach the ceiling.

  
  


She did, barely. Her fingers locked around a pipe as the train thundered past underneath her. She inhaled deeply- then one end of the pipe ripped loose from its setting, dropping her two feet lower.

  
  


Only panic-peaked reflexes saved her as she yanked her legs just out of the train's path. It continued to scream and rattle its way underneath her, a long, long train with no end in sight. And now the other end of the pipe was starting to pull loose.

  
  


Erin swung around to face Arwen, her friend, who was hanging from her own secure perch. She was staring at her with a mild expression which might have been covering a bit of regret. "Arwen!"

  
  


The witch stiffened a little at that; her cool facade slipped just a crack. 

  
  


"Lady Undómiel. Arwen, my friend, please, for God's sake, *help* me!"

  
  


Now those beautiful blue eyes widened, in disbelief and shock, and...recognition?

  
  


Erin screamed as the pipe ripped loose and she began to fall. The clinical part of her brain, the cool little voice that wasn't the least concerned with impending death, scolded her for such a pathetic series of last words. Finn would have undoubtably thought of something much wittier.

  
  


Then long fingers were locked around her wrist in an iron grip, and she was yanked upward. Arwen had somehow snaked one leg and one arm into the mass of tubing; with her other arm, she locked Erin tight against her own body. The train continued to rumble past, but the two women huddled against the ceiling were out of reach.

  
  


The last car passed, and the train vanished around the curve, the echoing rumble gradually dying away.

  
  


Arwen, still clutching Erin, worked her arm and leg free. She cast a levitation spell, which carried them most of the way to the ground before her composure slipped and the spell gave out, sending them tumbling the last few feet to the cement floor.

  
  


Erin lay on her back, hyperventilating, calming the hysterics that were trying to fight their way free. Arwen lay beside her, her fingers still locked around her arm. Panting, she managed to sit up, her limbs shaking.

  
  


"Okay, okay, just breathe, breathe, it's okay, it's all right, just breathe..."

  
  


Erin was unsure whether the string of soothing words were intended for her, or for Arwen herself. She finally managed to get her breathing under control, but Arwen needed to use her other hand to pry her fingers loose from Erin's wrist.

  
  


Erin looked into the witch's eyes, seeing terror and adrenaline and magic reflected like roiling storm clouds. Then she wrapped her arms around the other woman and they knelt for a few moments, the chill of the concrete seeping through their clothes.

  
  


"Hello, Eowyn." 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	16. Tunnel Vision

We are so sorry for how long this chapter has taken us to post. We aren't dead, and we are still writing. Things have just been a little slow lately. The next chapter *will* be up faster, we promise.

The Nightrunners

  
  


Tunnel Vision

  
  


Soundtrack : Wherever you will go ( The Calling ) 

  
  
  
  


Five hundred metres below the surface of Paris, an argument was taking place.

  
  


"'Keep your heads down,' his lordship says. 'Try not to piss anyone off', he says." Peter's grumbling was muffled somewhat by the low-ceilinged tunnel, but not enough to suit his companion. "Easy for Adam to say, he's not the one who actually has to put up with the bloody mages." 

  
  


"Peter, I'm going to kill you for this."

  
  


"What was I supposed to do, Mark? Let that mage make me his personal lightning rod? I don't think so!"

  
  


"Taking a swing at a pissed mage in a freaking mage *bar* still isn't the best idea," was Mark's only reply.

  
  


"Hey, it's not my fault. Didn't you hear what he said?"

  
  


"Pippin, you have no idea what he said. He was speaking French. Anyway, we're not in Necropolis anymore. You can't take a swing at someone for looking at you funny."

  
  


"No, I know what he said, Mark, and it wasn't polite at all."

  
  


"Since when do you know French?"

  
  


"I don't, not really. Just a few of the choicer words. Remember Amelie?"

  
  


"Oh, yeah, that singer you dated once. The blonde." 

  
  


"Whenever we fought, she'd scream at me in French. I looked up some of the insults. That mage wasn't half as creative."

  
  


"So we're lost. What do we do now?" 

  
  


Mark and Peter were dressed in baggy jeans and hooded sweaters. Peter had made concessions to the climate by adding a fringed green scarf to the ensemble. This far underground, the two ex-hobbits weren't in danger of freezing to death, but a quick escape through one of the less-used pedestrian tunnels had landed them in the middle of nowhere.

  
  


At least they'd lost the enraged magic-users. Drunk teenage mages that they were, they still presented a threat. Mark and Peter had opted for a hasty retreat, owing to the fact that there were two of them and ten mages. They also didn't want Parisian police records in their first week in the city.

  
  


Unfortunately, they'd ended up somewhere where you couldn't exactly ask for directions. The pavement underfoot was cracked and pitted; graffiti and ancient advertisements dotting the walls. The entire underground rumbled with the distant echo of the Metro trains, and of cars. Pippin sniffed the air. "Smells like home."

  
  


"You're not really helping, Pip. Try calling Adam."

  
  


Peter flipped open the small cell that the cop had acquired for them. He shook his head. "No reception. We're too far underground, I guess."

  
  


Mark groaned. "Maybe we can try retracing our steps. We'll end up where we came in. Once we find some other people, we can find an Information Terminal and make some queries about White City Enterprises. We can't go back to the apartment empty-handed."

  
  


Poor Mark had no idea that the statement concerning backtracking had been made by Lost People for thousands of years, and most of their remains have never been found.

  
  


An hour later, the two rockers found themselves wandering through what appeared to be an abandoned subway station, a place they *definitely* hadn't seen before. They found a set of broken escalators. One led upwards, another downwards.

  
  


Peter raised one eyebrow. "Well? Up or down?"

  
  


Mark paused to think. "I don't know. Up will lead us to the surface, and we're not exactly equipped to deal with sub-zero temperatures right now."

  
  


"Down, then?"

  
  


"Adam said there's dozens of levels under the city, and abandoned tunnels that run everywhere. We've just got to find our way back to one of the main transit lines."

  
  


//At least there's some light.// Mark mused some time later. Incandescents lined the ceiling overhead, adding a dim glow to the passage. It was, unfortunately, *very* dim.

  
  


They wouldn't have gotten out at all if Peter hadn't tripped at what turned out to be an extremely fortuitous moment. He swore as he hit the ground and rolled onto his side. His arms, however, went right through the wall.

  
  


Peter drew himself into a crouch. "Hey, Merry, look at this."

  
  


Mark cocked his head. "It's a hole. In the wall."

  
  


"Yeah, but it's really bright at the other end!"

  
  


Mark glared at his friend. "Oh no. There's no way in *hell* that I'm *crawling* through a little hole in the wall because there's *light* at the other end."

  
  


"My dear Merry, this is where I point out that this tunnel could run for miles, with no way in or out. I also point out that I don't want to die in the bowels of Paris. Let's go through the wall."

  
  


A few moments later, the tunnel was once again empty. However, a voice was being slowly muffled by the walls. "This...would be a lot...easier...if we were still...hobbits!"

  
  


"Shut up and...crawl!"

  
  


Thankfully, they didn't have very far to go. Peter squeezed out through the narrow gap at the end and straightened up, brushing dust off his sweatshirt and out of his hair. Behind him, Mark stifled a groan as he wormed his way through the opening in the wall.

  
  
  
  


"Ow, ow, ow...woah..."

  
  


Mark trailed off as they stared at the room where they'd ended up. It was extremely vast, running for hundreds of feet in either direction. Tall shelves lined the walls, packed with crates and boxes and glass cases. Overhead, incandescents glowed with steady amber light.

  
  


"This looks like some sort of storage warehouse." said Mark, standing on tiptoes to peer into one of the crates. Some sort of stuffed bird, a hawk or an eagle, stared beadily back at him. "Weird."

  
  


"Very weird." said Peter. He tugged Merry's sleeve. "Come on. Let's have a look around."

  
  


Several paces away, there were half a dozen oil paintings mounted on the wall, looking extremely out of place. Mark paused and frowned. They were surrounded by dry sponges, rather than frames.

  
  


//Weird.//

  
  


Peter picked up a wooden crate and rattled the contents: small shards of pottery, each one bearing a tiny label. "What kind of place *is* this?"

  
  


Mark blew the dust off a glass display case, and his eyes widened. Inside, meticulously arranged on a bed of blue velvet, was a collection of stunning Egyptian jewellery. Peter was examining a row of marble busts, depicting men with short, clipped hair and laurel crowns.

  
  


There were small, exceedingly detailed tags attached to everything in the room. Peter picked up a blue vase and read the tag: Dragon-Head Vase, 12", 14th-century Ming Dynasty, China. Archaeological dig, Bankok, 1902. Property of the Louvre, Paris, France. Do not Remove.

  
  


Their eyes met, comprehension dawning at the exact same moment. 

  
  


"Holy shit, we're in the basement of the Louvre!" Peter was incredulous.

  
  


"We have to be. All this stuff is labelled as Louvre property. It must be one of the storerooms."

  
  


"Christ, do you know how much some of this stuff is *worth*?"

  
  


"Hands to yourself, Pip," was the only reply, yet Mark's eyes gleamed with laughter in the dim light.

  
  


They wandered down the aisles, stopping to poke at some of the more interesting items. There was one long table covered with fossilized bones, from some sort of creature that must have been larger than a bus when it was alive. The two rockers were duly impressed.

  
  


Suddenly, Peter stopped and pointed. There was an old metal staircase running along the wall, leading to a door. A little red sign glowed above it, featuring a figure fleeing stylized flames. It read 'Sortie de Secours'.

  
  


A smile bloomed on Mark's face. "Is that what I think it is?"

  
  


Peter nodded. "It's our way out of here."

  
  


They headed towards the exit, happy to have found a way out of the labyrinth that was the Paris Underground. As they brushed past one narrow shelf, however, a box fell to the floor, knocking some of the contents loose.

  
  


"Oh, dammit." The two ex-hobbits waited nervously for an alarm to start blaring, but nothing happened. Mark breathed a sigh of relief, and picked up the crate. Inside, it was divided into little compartments. It was labelled: Jewellery, Unknown Origins.

  
  


Peter picked up a carved gold torque bracelet and held it up to the light. "Nice," he said appreciatively, and dropped it into an appropriate slot. It bore the label 'Southern Mongolia, 1972. Culture: unknown. Age: Unknown.

This continued for several moments, as jewellery was sorted into the appropriate compartments. Then they both stopped dead, as Mark lifted one pendant by its fine-spun silver chain and swung it gently.

  
  


"Holy...shit."

  
  


"Is *that* what I think it is?"

  
  


The rusted old fire exit clanged shut several minutes later, the two rockers stumbling out into a major transit tunnel shortly afterwards. Car horns blared as they ran across the lane, and Peter swung around and offered a one-finger salute to the swearing drivers.

  
  


Four months later, someone finally noticed that item T-002389 from Storage Room 4C was missing. A search was made, but no trace was found.

  
  


It had, it fact, left the premises in the pocket of one Peter Taylor, and not even Mark Anderson Brand had protested.

  
  


After all, it wasn't stealing if you had every intention of returning the thing to its *proper* owner. 


	17. Off the Map

A/N : *Waves flag* We aren't dead. Life has just kind of happened to us this summer. Very sorry about the lack of posting, but hopefully the fall will not be quite so crazy. Enjoy the chapter. 

The Nightrunners

  
  
  
  
  
  


Off the Map

  
  


Soundtrack : "Real World" ( Matchbox 20 )   
  
I wonder what it's like to be the rainmaker   
I wonder what it's like to know that I make the rain   
I'd store it in boxes with little yellow tags on everyone   
And you can come see them when I'm...done, when I'm   
Done   
I wonder what it's like to be a super hero   
I wonder where I'd go if I could fly around downtown   
From some other planet, I get this funky high on yellow   
Sun   
Boy I bet my friends will all be...stunned, they're stunned   
  
[chorus]  
Straight up, what did you hope to learn about here   
If I were someone else, would this all fall apart   
Strange, where were you, when we started this gig,   
I wish the real world, would just stop hassling me   
  
I wonder what it's like to be the head honcho   
I wonder what I'd do if they all did just what I said   
I'd shout out an order, I think we're out of this man get   
me some   
Boy don't make me wanna change my...tone, my tone   
  
[chorus]  
  
Please don't change, please don't break   
The only thing that seems to work at all is you   
Please don't change, at all from me   
To you, and you to me   
  
[chorus]  
  


  
  
  
  


//Frodo ran blindly through the forest, with no thought in his panicked mind but flight. He didn't know why he was running, only that his very life, no, his very *soul* required that he escape. The forest was dark, filled with unearthly silence. The only sounds in the nightmarish scene was his own tortured breathing, and the pounding of his feet over the rough terrain. Branches whipped at his face; clawed at his feet, but he hardly felt them. He had to run, before, before-

  
  


-a chilling scream shattered the night; seemed to tear through his very being. If possible, he ran even faster, fuelled by only his primal terror, the unbearable need to *get away*. He didn't risk a glance over his shoulder, knowing the horror heralded by the approaching hoof-beats. They pounded the earth just behind him, and he felt, clawing at the air about his head, the loathsome, oh-so-familiar touch.

  
  


'Give it up', a grating voice told him. 'Give us what we want'. The voices seemed to echo all around him, and he turned, slowing his head long sprint, knowing he was trapped. Slithering shadows surrounded him, all of them reaching clawed hands towards a tiny golden bauble he carried. He knew it was hopeless. Nonetheless, he reached towards his scabbard, pulling his blade defiantly... 

  
  


...and stared at it, horror-struck. It wasn't the elegant elven sword he had carried throughout his quest, but a small knife, somehow familiar. It was the knife -he struggled to remember, surrounded by the darkness- it was the knife that he carried in his boot. 

  
  


He looked around again, and the old nightmare suddenly took on a new turn. 

  
  


The shadows melted and dissolved, and the forest warped into an unfamiliar lobby, so white that it was almost blinding. He spun wildly, trying to place his surroundings, and his stomach froze once more in horror. Eight women, led by a demon child in a red coat, advanced across the stone floor towards him. The leader, who he recognized as Trish, charged a spell, and he recognized with a jolt of horror the one that had almost killed him in New York. He reached for his knife, but it had somehow disappeared, and with the bizarre logic of dreams he knew he had to run again, that he couldn't let these demons reach him.

  
  


He turned and fled to the elevator, feeling the same mindless panic that always gripped him in his nightmares. He couldn't control his actions, it was if his body was refusing to obey what his mind told him. 

  
  


He pounded on the call button, and the elevator doors seemed to open in slow motion. He moved to dive in, but a sudden arm across the door stopped him. A quick glance over his shoulder told him that he had run out of time.

  
  


But all at once, the Nazgul women faded to insignificance, if such a thing were possible. Felix's attention was rivetted to the man who had barred his entrance.

  
  


He was dressed normally, in a business suit and tie. But it wasn't his appearance that rooted Felix in place. 

  
  


The man opened his eyes wide and hissed.//

  
  


************

  
  


"The nightmares have started again, haven't they?" Sam asked, as he and Felix walked across the well-kept promenade that led to the main entrance to White City Enterprises.

  
  


Felix glanced up, a look of panic fleeting across his face, though he covered it well. "What makes you say that?"

  
  


Sam rolled his eyes at this forced casualty. "It might have been that for the short period of time you were asleep last night, you thrashed about muttering about Black Riders, rings, and for some reason, elevators. Then you woke up gasping, and you didn't sleep for the rest of the night. It wasn't exactly hard to figure out."

  
  


Felix looked uncomfortable. "I thought you were asleep."

  
  


"I would have thought that you knew me better then that by now."

  
  


"I know, you're right." The dark-haired ex-Ringbearer grinned hopefully. "But you came up with better things to do than sleep, anyway."

  
  


Sam wagged a finger threateningly. "No way, you're not changing the subject that easily. And you're not seducing me in broad daylight, in public."

  
  


"Am I so obvious?"

  
  


"No, but when you're trying to avoid a conversation you start to flirt. I think you run out of other ideas."

  
  


"Oh, wonderful," Felix said, looking none-too-thrilled with this theory.

  
  


"Besides, you've hardly said two words since we left the apartment, and you're staring off into the middle distance with this spaced-out expression on your face. That normally means you're thinking hard, and since you're not sharing, it must be the nightmares, based on last night."

Sam stopped, looking at him seriously. "So what's happened? These nightmares have been coming more and more often recently. What brought this one on? Was it the fight at the airport?"

  
  


Felix sighed, and glancing around, dropped his voice. "I don't know. It could have been. But the nightmares are different now."

  
  


"What do you mean?" Sam asked sharply.

  
  


"It's kind of blurry. I was running, just like always, but it wasn't in the forest, it was like a lobby. I didn't recognize it. And there was somebody there, somebody new. He spoke to me."

  
  


"What did he say?"

  
  


Felix hesitated, then dropped his gaze. "I don't remember."

  
  


For a brief moment, Sam looked disappointed. Then the expression was gone, and he replied briskly, "Okay, but let me know if you remember anything else." He gestured towards the main office building of White City Enterprise. "Let's check out the premises, shall we?"

  
  


The two young men entered through the revolving doors, and took in their surroundings. An ostentatious lobby, done in white stone...

  
  


Felix froze, his face a mask of horror. "Sam," he whispered, his voice strangled. 

  
  


His friend's head whipped around at his tone. "What is it? What's wrong?"

  
  


"We have to get out of here."

  
  


"Why?" Sam whispered urgently, looking confused.

  
  


"Sam, this is the lobby from my dream."

  
  


************

  
  


"Felix, are you all right? Felix? Dammit, Frodo!"

  
  


Sam was looking with concern at his best friend. Felix was busy leaning over a stone railing, throwing up.

  
  


Sam glanced around cautiously. Felix had gotten what he judged to be a 'safe distance' away before being violently ill, but Sam was still worried. He brushed the hair back from his lover's face, and Felix raised his head, still looking faintly green. "Sorry," he said weakly. "I didn't mean to go to pieces like that-"

  
  


"Hey, it's okay," Sam replied, in a manner that he hoped was reassuring. "It must be tough finding out that your nightmares are based on real places."

  
  


"It's not just that," Felix whispered, leaning in to Sam's touch. "That place is dangerous. I could *feel* it, like a sixth sense or something."

  
  


"Your hobbit-like perseverance, maybe," Sam said wryly. "Seems everybody is following their instincts these days. I suppose it is dangerous, though, if you're dreaming about fighting the Nine there."

  
  


Felix turned away, and watched a metro train rumble somewhere below them. "There's more than that," he admitted. "Sam, it was *him*.

  
  


"Who?"

  
  


"Sam, I think someone in there *remembers*. I think they're waiting for us." 

  
  


Sam was already reaching for his phone. "I'm calling Gabe. There's no way in *hell* we're going back in there without backup." 

  
  


************

  
  


"What? Seriously? Okay, make sure you're clear, and then stay put. I'll be there as soon as I can."

  
  


Gabe cut the connection, and tucked the cell phone back into his coat. "Bad news, my friend," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "Our hobbits sound like they're in over their heads. Do you think you can manage by yourself for an hour?" His voice sounded hollow even to his own ears.

  
  


Legolas didn't reply. Then again, Gabe hadn't really expected an answer. His chest still rose and fell, his breathing somewhat more steady than it had been that morning. Gabe was still hesitant to leave him, but really, what choice did he have? Sam had sounded rattled on the phone, and the professor didn't want to think what could have done that to the normally unshakable hobbit.

  
  


He headed for the door, but couldn't resist one final glance at the injured elf.

  
  


************

  
  


"Don't you think we should wait for Gabe?" 

"Sam, I'm telling you, it's just nerves. I'm fine now, really. I can do this."

  
  


Felix's look was stubborn. Sam recognized that look all too well. He was currently headed towards the entrance of White City Enterprises, Sam almost running to keep up.

  
  


"This is a really bad idea," Sam warned, and Felix spared him another glance as he pushed his way through the revolving doors once more. 

  
  


"You don't have to come, you know." Felix's voice was softer.

  
  


A snort was his only reply.

  
  


The two made their way over to a bank of elevators, and if Felix felt any residual fear from his nightmare, he relentlessly quashed it. Pushing the call button, he ignored his pounding heart.

  
  


It never pays to ignore a sixth sense, especially when you're a reincarnated ringbearer.

  
  


The doors slid open, and Felix exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. A man stepped out, and smiled at them both. "Welcome to White City Enterprises, Mr. Baker, Mr. Gardener. We've been expecting you."

  
  


In their overwhelming surprise, a slight hint of recognition went unnoticed in both hobbits.

  
  


************

  
  


Back in le Quartier Notre-Dame, Bloc 709, three individuals were breaking into a nice apartment. 

  
  


"The door is warded, a couple of powerful spells. Some real locks, too."

  
  


"Hmm, they're evidently very protective of something."

  
  


One of the burglars rolled his eyes. "They must protect their precious prince," he replied dryly. 

  
  


The third member of the group pushed his way to the front. "Let me at the wards," he said brusquely. Placing both hands on the door, he muttered a few syllables under his breath, and the spells flared briefly before dying.

  
  


He stepped away from the door, waving one of the others forward. "Go, work your magic on the locks."

  
  


"Who needs magic?" came the reply, as the other unrolled a case of lockpicks.

  
  


Several minutes later, the door swung open, admitting the three thieves.

  
  


In the bedroom, an elven prince lay unconscious and helpless.

  
  


************

  
  


"We've been hoping you would come," the man said. "I'm Garrett, personal assistant to Darryl Stuart."

  
  


Felix and Sam both gave him blank looks. "He's the CEO of White City Enterprises," the newly-identified Garrett explained.

  
  


"Um...okay." Sam shot Felix a look, one which asked the burning question: 'what the hell is going on?'

  
  


They stood in uneasy silence, watching the numbers slowly rise. //We must be near the surface by now.// Felix thought.

  
  


Eventually Garrett felt moved to speak, explaining, "We've heard that Mr. Gordon has returned to Paris, and we are pleased to welcome any associates of his."

  
  


"Mr. Gordon?" Felix mouthed behind the assistant's back. "Adam? How do they know he's here?"

  
  


Sam shrugged helplessly.

  
  


At that moment, the elevator doors opened, and any further chance to question Garrett was lost. "Right this way."

  
  


************

  
  


The three men opened the bedroom door, revealing the unconscious elf.

  
  


"Get him out of here, now," one ordered.

  
  


************

  
  


Sam didn't quite know what to expect of the CEO of one of the world's most powerful companies, but Darryl Stuart certainly wasn't it. He and Felix were ushered into the well-appointed office, where they saw the man for the first time.

  
  


He wasn't particularly large, sat behind a formidable desk covered with computer consoles and printouts. His severely-cut suit was negated by the friendly grin he wore.

  
  


"Well, well, well. Felix Baker, Sam Gardener." He rose, offering them his hand. "I'm very pleased to meet you at last. Sit down, won't you?"

  
  


Slightly wary, they accepted the chairs. 

  
  


"Can I offer you boys a drink? Lake Merlot?"

  
  


The two exchanged glances, remembering what had happened the *last* time somebody had offered them Lake Merlot. "No, thank you. And I don't mean to be rude or anything," Felix said, "But how do you know who we are?"

  
  


Darryl laughed. "After that incident in the JFK airport, how could I not? You boys know how to take care of yourselves, I'll give you that."

  
  


Sam narrowed his eyes slightly. "We had some help."

  
  


Darryl acknowledged this point with a wave of his hand. "Of course, of course. Heard that elf of yours took quite a beating."

  
  


Two heads shot up suddenly. "Elf?" Felix asked, trying to hide his surprise and failing.

  
  


"What? Oh yes, I know all about Middle Earth, the Elves, and Hobbits."

  
  


Both hobbits managed to get their expressions under control. "Pardon me?" Sam asked.

  
  


Darryl smiled disarmingly. "You don't have to pretend around me, boys. I know that there are elves about, who have been in contact with you."

  
  


Neither Felix or Sam had any reply to this, so Darryl continued: "I know you're friends of Adam, and I don't want to see you getting mixed up in any kind of unpleasantness."

  
  


"Unpleasantness?"

Darryl nodded, his expression suddenly serious. "Those elves are bad news. Trust me, I've dealt with Goldenwood for years. If they've been in contact with you, they want something."

  
  


"Really?"

  
  


"Yes. Smug, manipulative bastards, every last one of them. They live forever, and they think it makes them better than us puny mortals." He shook his head. "Take my advice. Stay away from them. They're only interested in themselves."

  
  


"We'll keep it in mind," Felix said nonchalantly.

  
  


"Good for you. I know you're smart, boys. Any friend of Adam's would have to be. Sharp boy, that one. I suppose he told you about me?"

  
  


Neither hobbit knew how much they should give away. "He's mentioned you, yes," Sam said.

"Mentioned me? Well, how's that for family loyalty? I practically brought the boy up, after his parents died and all. And now I catch word that he's here in Paris, right under my nose, and he doesn't bother to show his face?" His voice was sharp; suddenly as if realizing this, he seemed to make a conscious effort to relax. "But I understand, of course. It's been ten years, after all, and maybe he just hasn't had time to drop in." 

  
  


"Yes, you know Adam, always working." Felix sent a desperate glance at his companion, and Sam rose to the challenge.

  
  


"Oh yes, barely sleep, just works. In fact, this is only a flying trip, you know. Business. What can you do? In fact, I don't know if he'll be able to get away for even a second."

  
  


"Well, I can understand that. Just let Adam know that I'm asking after him, alright? And are you sure I can't interest you in some Lake Merlot? It's quite rare now. This is a 2032 vintage, almost impossible to find. I recently...acquired a bottle from a contact in New York."

  
  


Felix heard Sam draw in a sharp breath. He glanced to his companion, the swiftly concealed expression confirming his fears. 

  
  


//That bottle was open when we came in. Twenty thirty-two Lake Merlot, probably only one bottle in New York. And it had to have come from Legolas's apartment. Jesus Christ, we're travelling off the map now, and there are dragons here.//

  
  


"Thank you, anyway," he said, praying their shock had passed unnoticed. "But we've got to get back to the others. We've been gone quite some time and they'll be sure to worry."

  
  


Felix wasn't sure if the veiled warning had registered on Darryl, but the CEO was fortunately not preventing their departure. "Certainly," he replied. "Tell Adam to come see me some time, will you?"

  
  


"No problem," Sam assured him, eager to escape.

  
  


"And remember what I told you about those elvish bastards, hmm?"

Felix shivered involuntarily. He'd heard Gabe use those same words to describe Legolas, but something in Darryl's inflection seemed...wrong. There was a coldness in those words, hidden beneath layers of affability. Suddenly, Felix couldn't wait to get out of this office. 

  
  


Without further farewell, the two hobbits headed for the door in the outer office.

  
  


*************

Felix and Sam couldn't get out of the building fast enough, emerging back out into the underground pavillion with obvious relief. "Okay, did that guy seriously creep you out?" Sam asked.

  
  


Felix shivered. "Yes, he did. How did he find all that stuff out about us?"

  
  


"I don't know. We should-"

  
  


A hand landed heavily on Sam's shoulder, spinning him around. He saw Felix go for his knife before relaxing: "Gabe."

  
  


His face was a mask of controlled fury. "What were you thinking, going in without backup?"

  
  


Felix held up both hands. "It's okay. I don't think White City means any harm, at least not at the moment. Come on, let's get back the apartment. We'll fill you in on the way." 

  
  


************

  
  


In his inner office, Darryl turned to Garrett, who had hovered in the corner throughout the entire exchange. "Follow those two. Find their apartment. But don't kill them. Yet."

  
  


He never lost the affable smile.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	18. Vodka is the Backdoor to Enlightenment

Author's Note: Timely update! Timely update! Aren't we amazing? Thank you, thank you *Nightrunners modestly accept all praise, presents, and offers of marriage*. Speaking of presents, we offer our happy belated birthday offerings to Dru, Jai and Ana. Ana, of course, is insufferably smug that she is several hours older than Jai and Dru, so she gets her birthday a day earlier. So, in the manner of hobbits, we give other people presents on their birthdays. In this case, we offer a timely update. Hope everyone enjoys.

  
  


Cheers, 

The Nightrunners

  
  
  
  
  
  


Vodka is the Backdoor to Enlightenment

  
  


Soundtrack: "To the Moon and Back" (Savage Garden)

  
  


She's taking her time making up the reasons

To justify all the hurt inside 

Guess she knows from the smiles

and the look in their eyes 

Everyone's got a theory about the bitter one 

They're saying, "Mamma never loved her much" 

And, "Daddy never keeps in touch 

That's why she shies away from human affection"

But somewhere in a private place 

She packs her bags for outer space 

And now she's waiting for the right kind of pilot to come 

And she'll say to him 

I would fly to the moon & back if you'll be... 

If you'll be my baby 

Got a ticket for a world where we belong 

So would you be my baby? 

She can't remember a time when she felt needed

If love was red then she was colour blind 

All her friend they've been tried for treason 

And crimes that were never defined 

She's saying, "Love is like a barren place, 

And reaching out for human faith 

Is like a journey I just don't have a map for" 

So baby's gonna take a dive and 

Push the shift to overdrive 

Send a signal that she's hanging 

All her hopes on the stars 

What a pleasant dream

I would fly to the moon & back if you'll be... 

If you'll be my baby

Got a ticket for a world where we belong 

So would you be my baby? 

  
  
  
  
  
  


It was a high-class bar somewhere near the centre of the Quartier, crowded with office workers who had stopped for a few drinks on their way home. Ties were loosened, jackets were shed, high heels were kicked off. The subdued lighting glinted off shot glasses, and the buzz of conversation was punctuated with laughter, the clink of glasses and the slosh of alcohol. The pervading sentiment ran somewhere along these lines:

  
  


Thank *God* it's Friday.

  
  


There were two women perched at the bar. Both had knocked back two shots of vodka within five minutes of entering, and were currently nursing their third.

  
  


They were both very striking women, and, ordinarily, they would have been approached by no less than five men before they'd finished their first drink. However, these two were surrounded by some indefinable aura of danger, something that put even the most drunkenly confident off their stride. It put one in mind of a pair of poisonous snakes, just waiting to be pissed off. Either that, or the sort of gorgeous Amazon-like space aliens that kill unsuspecting men in bad science-fiction movies.

  
  


Erin had pulled on Alice's black leather gloves to cover her bleeding hands, which had been torn up during her frantic subway wall-climb. She finished her drink, toyed with the idea of ordering another, but decided against it. Beside her, Alice laughed a little.

  
  


"You know, it's actually sort of funny, when you think about it."

  
  


"What?"

  
  


"That we both nearly killed ourselves and saved the Dark Lord the trouble."

  
  


"Oh, shut up." Erin gingerly prodded her shoulder, where a large bruise was forming, courtesy of a witch-dropped garbage can. "I owe you one good smack, by the way. I don't think I'll ever be able to wear a sleeveless dress again."

  
  


"It's your own fault, anyway." The witch winced as she arched her back, her ribs protesting violently. "You kicked me. Ow. I can't believe you kicked me."

  
  


"Get over it, you baby. So, you're Alice. You still look more like an Arwen."

  
  


"Yeah, I try. So you're Eowyn?"

  
  


"Yep. Erin Stuart, currently of Ithilien Intelligence, II to our friends. I've know who I am, sorry, *was*, for the past couple of years."

  
  


Fortunately, Alice had recently acquired the knack for following surreal conversations. "So what the hell happened to you? Why did you remember, I mean?"

  
  


Erin fiddled with her shot glass. "It started when I was just a kid, actually. I was only ten when the war broke out, living in Belfast with my parents and my brother Eric. I started having dreams about riding horses." Her eyes hardened against a sudden memory. "My folks didn't want to leave the city, even when the fighting got worse. They got caught in the crossfire when some soldiers took down a necromancer. Collateral damage, the cops said."

  
  


"I'm sorry."

  
  


Erin shrugged. "It was a long time ago. Eric was fifteen, and we got out of the city before Social Services could start sniffing around. Not that they did much, during the war. Too many kids, too many broken homes, y'know?"

  
  


"All too well."

  
  


"The dreams started including a huge black monster and swords. Anyways, we got to London, fell in with a sort-of freelance mercenary group. Bloody-minded bastards, actually. They kept Eric around because he was good in a scrap, even against mages. Me, because I was little and cute, and they thought I was funny. Little red pigtails and my brother's gun in my hands."

  
  


"Jesus."

  
  


"Don't know if you know it, but they were fighting an urban war in London. The whole damn city was a battle-zone. Militia, mages, soldiers, a few wizards and necromancers, so it was pretty hard to keep track of who was fighting who. You gained some sort of skill that made you worth protecting, or you died pretty fast."

  
  


"And you?"

  
  


"Computer hacking. Setting up stings for the army. Um, liberating funds when they weren't readily available, that sort of thing. That's rather the reason I ran into trouble when the war ended. Suddenly, hacking's not a great societal skill. It's something they frown on when they see it on job applications."

  
  


"Let me guess. You did something that I'd probably have to arrest you for?"

  
  


"Uh, yes. Several somethings. I was sixteen and sitting on my ass in a juvenile prison, the kind the government never quite has the budget to revamp. At any rate, I'd probably be there still, if it hadn't been for Gandalf."

  
  


"Gandalf?!"

  
  


Erin grinned. "Don't sound so surprised, dear. At this point, the dreams had taken a turn towards the gutting of monsters on battlefields. Lots of intestines. Being a reincarnated princess was a nice explanation, much better than a long, painful slide towards insanity; besides, this guy had pulled a *lot* of favours to get me out. Then he took me back to Ireland. Eric was there. I walked into the room, and all I saw was a horse and a shield and a spear, and everything just *clicked*, you know? It was like remembering something that you couldn't remember forgetting, if that makes any sense."

  
  


"Actually, it does."

  
  


"So I started working with Ithilien Intelligence. After four months of working there, this *amazing* guy shows up at my office, with a smile that would drop you in your tracks. My first thought, literally, was 'I'm going to marry this man'. It was Finn." She smiled. "We got married a few months ago."

  
  


"Congratulations, you lucky bitch."

"So that's about it for Eowyn/Erin 101. Any questions, students?" 

  
  


"Yeah, I have to ask. Does it get any easier? I mean, the feeling that you've got twice as much personality as before?"

  
  


"Not really, but you get used to it. There's a few other reincarnations kicking around. My brother Eric, that's Eomer, he's somewhere in the city. Hama was in New York, but we've lost contact with him, we're afraid that he's probably dead. We've got quite a few of the old Rohirrim working at II. And there's Finn and Barry and your Adam, the Gondorian darlings. Speaking of which, have you any idea where our gentlemen lovers went?"

  
  


"Hey, woah, stop there." Alice blushed faintly, a look that wasn't very common for her. "First off, he's not my lover."

  
  


"Really?" Erin's grin was mischievous. "When do you intend to remedy that?"

  
  


"You know, I don't think I hit you quite hard enough." The blush was firmly entrenched now.

  
  


Erin, seeing her advantage, pursued the point ruthlessly. "Do you love him?"

  
  


Alice frowned, tugged at a stray lock of hair, a habit she'd unconsciously picked up from Adam. "I don't think it's that simple."

  
  


"Love rarely is," said Erin. "But do continue."

  
  


Alice drummed her fingers on the bar, trying to organize her thoughts. "I think I was in love with Adam before I realized I had an Elf princess riding shotgun. It was like I kept the world at arm's length, and he was the only one who cared enough to get close. It didn't seem to matter to him how many times he got burned."

  
  


"And then?"

  
  


"And then this reincarnated personality appears, and suddenly I feel like there's another person inside my head, who's not me, but *is* me at the same time, and we both want different things, even though we both want the same person..." she trailed off. "Is this making any sense to you? Because I've just managed to confuse myself."

  
  


"I think I get it. Adam wants you. You want him, but you also want Aragorn, but he can't remember you, so a big part of you is unsatisfied with this arrangement..."

  
  


"Oh my god, I think I've gone cross-eyed."

  
  


Erin threw back her head and laughed, an action which caused half a dozen men to look towards her with longing in their eyes. "Oh, Arwen, Alice, whoever the hell you are, if it's love, just run with it, and see where it takes you. Because life's too damned short to waste opportunities like this."

  
  


"Ugh. You're probably right. And I've had too much to drink."

  
  


"On second thought-" the mischievous glint had returned to Erin's eyes. "From what I saw of him, Adam really *is* quite cute, and maybe if I asked Finn really nicely-"

  
  


Alice cut her off with a glare that was sharp enough to cut glass. The effect was only slightly softened by the quirk of her lips. "*Mine*."

  
  


**********

  
  


"Try Adam's cell phone again."

  
  


"I have. Three times. He's not picking up."

  
  


"Well, do you want to go back to the apartment and wait for him? He's bound to show up eventually. Either he'll lose Finn and Barry and work his way back there, or they'll catch up with him and convince him they're on his side. Either way, he's bound to turn up." Erin tossed her scarf over her shoulder. "Besides, I really want to clean up my hands and put some ice on this shoulder."

  
  


"Okay, I guess. But only if you swear on your grandmother's silver, your puppy dog, and your favourite pair of boots that you're not a spy of Sauron who's going to slaughter Legolas, Gabe and the Hobbits the moment I lead you there."

  
  


"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer."

  
  


"Yeah, yeah, I know. It's this way."

  
  


Alice led the way towards Bloc 709. The passed through the lobby, and took the elevator up the six floors to their rooms. As they walked down the dim, carpeted hall, Erin glanced around with approval. "This is very nice."

  
  


"Yeah, I know. Adam had a hidden account. It has more money in it than I make in two years, and that's including Christmas bonuses."

  
  


"Sneaky bastard. So that's why we couldn't track you." 

  
  


At the end of the hall, Alice spoke the trigger-wards to open the door. Gabe and the Hobbits had wired the apartment with some fairly advanced rune-locks, which still looked intact. Alice opened the door- 

  
  


-to find Gabe standing in the middle of the main room, swearing in about four languages, none of which she recognized. Felix and Sam were sprawled over the couch, looking utterly defeated.

  
  


Erin momentarily forgotten, Alice hurried inside. "What is it? What's wrong?"

  
  


Gabe swung towards her. "I leave for *twenty* minutes, and the *fucking* Elf is gone!"

  
  


She felt her stomach drop. A quick inspection of the bedroom, however, confirmed what Gabe had said. The bed was immaculate, the curtains flung open; there was no sign of the Elf who'd occupied the room for three days.

  
  


Except for Legolas' white filagree knives. They were lying on the pillow, looking like the ghosts of ancient blades in the fading light. Alice reached out and cautiously touched one of the hilts, feeling a tingle of magic at the contact with the enchanted weapon. It was still warm, as though a hand had gripped it only moments ago.

  
  


She blinked. There was love in these blades, like a warm light, and also millennia of blood, like a smoky black cloud. There was time, weariness, and a sort of fey magic twisted through. So much memory, so much time, and the essential essence of their Elven wielder, but she felt no recent fear or pain.

  
  


She told Gabe, and he nodded. "He told me, back in New York, that his father gave him the knives, that they're charmed. They're supposed to be indestructible until he dies. So the fact that they're still there tells us that he's alive." 

"Um, excuse me?"

  
  


Alice and Gabe turned to find Erin at the threshold of the bedroom, Felix and Sam standing behind her, looking nervous.

  
  


"If our people found him, then I know where they'd have taken him."

  
  


Alice wanted to cry, she was so relieved. She fought it back. "Where did they take him?"

  
  


"To Goldenwood and the Elves. I know how to get there."

  
  


Behind Erin, Felix coughed politely. "I don't mean to be rude, but who the hell are you?"

  
  


She turned and shot them a dazzling smile. "Eowyn of Rohan, currently Erin Stuart of Ithillien Intelligence. Nice to meet you."

  
  


The two rockers looked unfazed. Felix nodded. "Okay. That's cool."

  
  


"You know where to find the Elves?" asked Gabe.

  
  


Erin nodded. "Yes. II is affiliated with Goldenwood Enterprises. We're one of their branches, if you'll excuse the pun."

  
  


Alice headed towards the door. "Brilliant. Then you can take us there right now."

  
  


Gabe caught her arm. "Wait a minute. Adam, Peter, and Mark aren't back yet. We can't all go and leave them by themselves, and I'm not letting you go alone. If you're going, take one of the Hobbits with you."

  
  


"Okay. Felix, you wanna see the Elves?"

  
  


"Sure." He turned to Sam. "You and Gabe wait here for the others, okay? They should be here soon, and you can follow us."

  
  


Sam nodded. "Okay. Be careful."

  
  


Alice tapped her cell phone. "We'll contact you when we get there. Maybe we can get them to send someone to pick you up."

  
  


Gabe followed them to the door. "Make sure the pointy-eared bastards put Legolas back together properly, or I'm going to be *really* pissed off."

  
  


The door swung shut behind them, and Alice followed Erin down the hall, Felix trailing a few steps behind them. Suddenly, the witch turned to the other woman with a fey and decidedly unAlice-like look in her eyes.

  
  


"I cannot *wait* to see the look on Ada's face!" 

  
  
  
  
  
  


To the non-elvish speaking population: 'Ada' means 'Father'.


	19. Eleventh Hour Epiphanies

Authors' Note: We're sorry. Very, very,very ,very, very sorry. The next one should not take quite so long. But don't trust us on that, we're University students and deadlines are truly meant to be broken. However this chapter is *really* long. To make up for it. Kind of. We'll shut up now.  
  


The Nightrunners  
  


Eleventh Hour Epiphanies   
  


Soundtrack : Unwell (Matchbox Twenty) ( If you don't know these lyrics, there is probably no hope for you)  
  


While a train bore down on two women caught on the tracks deep in the underground of the White City, Barry and Finn were having troubles of a different nature. 

  
  


"I'm...getting...too ...*old*... for... this!"  
  


"Shut up and keep running."  
  


"He's heading ....into.... the market."  
  


As Adam slowed, gaping in dismay at the open air market that hadn't existed ten years ago, Finn took the opportunity to tackle him.  
  


Barry sighed as the two men went down with a resounding crash, accompanied by the tinkle of broken glass and china. With a glance to make sure Finn hadn't concussed their friend too badly, Barry turned his attention to the gathering crowd of shoppers.  
  


"Sorry 'bout that. We haven't seen our friend in a *very* long time. Nothing too exciting. Nothing to see here..." Barry flashed his most disarming smile at the dispersing crowd, all the while waving his arms like a demented air traffic controller. The great thing about Parisians was that if there wasn't much violence, and it didn't involve them directly, they tended to ignore what was going on around them. For once, Barry was grateful for their innate self-absorption.  
  


As the last of the shoppers drifted away, Barry turned back to where Finn was brushing himself off. Adam was still lying on the ground, wheezing.  
  


"Please tell me we don't have to take him to a doctor."  
  


Finn glanced back at Adam. "I don't think so. I just knocked the wind out of him. Grab an arm, so we can get him out of the street."  
  


"Where do you want to take him ?"  
  


"How about Michelle's ? I could go for a cup of coffee about now."  
  


"Sounds good. Let's go"  
  


Dragging Adam down a narrow side street, they managed to get about five feet down the rubbish covered pavement before they were forced to stop again.  
  


"Oww, crap! Damn it Adam ,that *hurt*!"  
  


Adam shoved Finn away, drew his gun and badge before turning around to face them.  
  


"Leave. Me . Alo- - "  
  


Finn, having recovered his balance, instinctively leapt away from the gun almost knocking Barry over in the process  
  


"Adam, what the *hell* do you think you're doing?"  
  


Behind the haze of adrenaline in his head it began to occur to Adam that his 'unknown' assailants had just called him by name twice in the last five minutes, and that they were starting to look pretty familiar. A thought was jumping up and down, trying to attract his attention.  
  


"Barry? Finn?"

Unfortunately, before they had a chance to open their mouths, Adam reverted to what they fondly remembered as "Suspicious-Bastard " mode.  
  


"What are you doing here?"  
  


Finn finally lost his temper. "'What are we doing here?' he asks? Would it hurt you to say hello? Or even 'Long time, no see' ? But noooo! Ten fucking *years* without a word, and the first words out of your mouth are 'What are you doing here?'. God, there are times when I'd *love* to be big enough to lay you out in a scrap!"  
  


"What are you *doing* here?" Adam repeated.  
  


Barry decided to step in, before Finn carried through with his earlier threat and decked Adam. "We might ask you the same question."  
  


"I came back...for a visit."  
  


"And didn't even bother to call?"  
  


"Why were you chasing me?"  
  


"Why were you running away?"  
  


Finn interrupted. "This is stupid. And I need a coffee. *Coming* Adam?"  
  


"Do I have a choice?"  
  


"No."  
  


"Coffee it is then."  
  


Cheered with the prospect of caffeine and coupled with the fact that he no longer had to chase his friend around the city, Finn reverted to his normal upbeat disposition.   
  


"That's a nice badge, Adam. Did you mug a cop?"   
  


"Yes. After I left Paris, I decided that the best career choice for me would be international thief. So I decided to go all the way to Necropolis to mug a cop. *No*, you idiot, I've been a cop for nearly seven years now."  
  


"A cop. You. You're joking, right?"  
  


"Shut up."  
  


************  
  


Adam took a moment to take in his surroundings, as Barry made his way over to their table with the coffee. He didn't know quite where his old friends had brought him, but it seemed to have at least two exits, and Adam had made sure to sit himself close to one of them, without having to turn his back to it. He reasoned that if Barry and Finn were going to try anything, they wouldn't try to get him from behind. It also made escape easier.  
  


//Just don't get sentimental, Gordon. These aren't the boys you grew up with. As nice as it would be to sit here and catch up, they knew where to find you, which is *not* a good thing. If you screw up, it's more than your neck on the line. Everyone else's safety is at risk as well. Just don't forget that.//  
  


"So, Adam, what are you doing here in Paris?"  
  


"Visiting."  
  


"All by yourself?"  
  


Barry and Finn watched the expression on Adam's face flicker.  
  


"No." Adam switched topics abruptly "How's Uncle Darryl?"  
  


Barry decided not to press him. For now "Not bad. "  
  


"Don't lie to him, Barry. Dad's gone power mad, and Garrett the toad is still around."  
  


Adam nodded. "The slimy guy that Dad never liked?"  
  


"That's the one. He's currently our dad's private secretary. In fact, he's held that position ever since you left."  
  


The conversation continued along those lines for some time Finally, Barry decided that it was time to find the answers they had come for.   
  
  
  


"Sorry to backtrack the conversation a bit, but who exactly did you say you were here with again, Adam?" He asked abruptly.  
  


Finn watched as the mask over Adam's face slipped back into place at Barry's question, and resisted the urge to kick his brother.   
  


//Just when we were getting him to open up a little, Mr. Subtlety strikes again..//  
  


"I *didn't* tell you who I was here with."  
  


"No, you didn't, but I was wondering what your girlfriend's name was. It would be nice to meet her some time." Barry, sensing Finn's displeasure at his tactless inquiries, tried to cover.   
  


"Her name is Alice. And she *isn't* my girlfriend." Adam couldn't keep himself from adding, "Unfortunately."  
  


"Awww, is poor Adam having romantic trouble?"  
  


Finn interjected, before Barry had a chance to do any more damage.  
  


"Knock it off, would you Barry? It's not like you have anything to boast about."  
  


"Oh look at Mr. Smug Married Man over there. Just because the rest of us haven't chosen to tie ourselves down, it doesn't mean that we haven't had the *chance*."  
  


Adam found himself smiling at the two bickering brothers. They really *hadn't* changed much in ten years. Still the same old Barry and Finn, always arguing over one thing or another.  
  


"Speaking of Erin, perhaps we should move this conversation back to your apartment, Barry? I'd like to be there in case Erin comes back with visitors."  
  


Turning to Adam, he added, "Erin was the woman who went chasing after your Alice, when we left the coffee shop by the rink. If she managed to catch up with her, she'll probably bring her back to Barry's. Would you care to come with us?"  
  


*************  
  


Barry's small apartment looked to be a fairly nice place, at least when it wasn't being inhabited by five people at the same time. Barry was one of life's natural bachelors and it showed.   
  


They'd been there for about forty-five minutes and still hadn't heard anything from Finn's wife.  
  


Trying to make casual conversation in the somewhat tense silence, Adam ventured, "So Finn, *what* exactly have you done with yourself in the last ten years?"  
  


"Well...I suppose you could say that I specialize in the acquisition of goods and information for several wealthy and influential private people. I am a purveyor of the goods and information that they deem to be important."  
  


"Such as?"  
  


"Well, I can't actually tell you that. Professional discretion prevents me from really telling you anything." he grinned. "Plus the fact that a lot of the stuff I learn isn't supposed to be public information."  
  


"So you're a spy, and a thief." Adam stated flatly. "I've spent most of my life trying to *stop* people like you, and now I have family in the business. Oh God"  
  


"I'm nothing of the sort. At least not in the sense you're thinking of. And I'm certainly not a thief. That's Barry's job."  
  


"What!?!"  
  


"Hey, I resent that. I'm not a thief, I'm an embezzler. A Robin Hood figure, if you will. I take from the rich and-"  
  


Finn interrupted, "Yes, but you also *give* to the rich. It doesn't make a difference."  
  


"Barry?"

"Yes, Adam ?"  
  


"Who have you been embezzling *from*, exactly?"  
  


"Oh, from Dad's company." A light dawned in his eyes. "Although I suppose it's really *your* company isn't it? You *are* heir to White City Enterprises."  
  


"Don't remind me, *please*."  
  


"So, I guess that means that it's *your* money I'm taking. Speaking of the company," he commented offhandedly, studying his nails," you might want to avoid the old man while you're in town."  
  


"Why would I want to avoid Uncle Darryl? Aside from the fact that I ran away ten years ago. He can't still be mad about *that*."  
  


"Well…" Barry hesitated. "It all goes back to what we were telling you earlier. White City Enterprises has given the Stuart family a great deal power and influence over the last ten years. And Dad's a proud man, but he's getting old. So many people would have welcomed you home with open arms, seeing it as a chance to de-claw our father and update the business."  
  


" Hold on. *Would* have welcomed me?"  
  


"There's been a lot of political intrigue going on here since you left. A lot of your Dad's old friends have been forced out of the company by scandal or in more extreme cases, death. And our father has become more and more territorial over this company. He's not going to be happy that you're back now."  
  


"Great, so now I now I have to worry about crazed family members attempting to kill me, on top of everything else."  
  


"Well, strictly speaking, he *isn't* actually family, per se."  
  


"Close enough. Finn, do I really have to wait around to meet your little missus?"  
  


"Anxious to escape our company, are you?"  
  


"Actually, I'm starting to worry about Alice. She doesn't know her way around the city and..." Adam shrugged, as he tried to explain the inexplicable. "Could I at least use the phone? She should have her cell turned on, and I might be able to reach her."  
  


"Whatever you wish, my liege." Barry joked, tossing off a mock salute as he went to get the phone. He turned around to see Adam stood in the centre of his dining room, giving him a very strange look.  
  


"What did you say?"  
  


"I said 'Whatever you wish, my liege'. Liege, as in, my brother, my captain, my king. You've never heard the expression before? I'm sure I told you that, once upon a time. Not that you'd actually remember or anything."  
  


************

Somewhere, he could hear Barry's voice, and the sound of a phone ringing, but that was a hundred thousand miles away from the world Adam Gordon was currently occupying. Those words, tossed off without a thought, had gone straight to his hindbrain and knocked something loose. That was the only way Adam could describe the sensation.   
  


Those words, in a different time, a different place, laden with pain and pride and regret. The last words he had ever heard from-   
  


-Barry, but that wasn't right, Barry hadn't died, but it had still been him, Boromir, with ugly black shafts buried in his chest, though his heart, the dead leaves underfoot sticky with blood, and he'd said-   
  


//I would have followed you.//  
  


And in that time, and in that place, he'd wept for the man who'd died, his brother and friend. In that old, sunny forest, surrounded by corpses, and Frodo had gone, running with the Ring-   
  


Frodo.  
  


And then an entire lifetime of memories hit Adam at high speed.  
  


It was the worst pain he'd ever felt, worse than being shot or stabbed or thrown out of a helicopter into an icy river. Worse, because it wasn't physical. It was all in his mind.   
  


************  
  


Barry Stuart didn't understand what was happening, at least, not at first. He watched as the blood drained out of his friend's face, watched as his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth clenched. He stepped forward and managed to catch Adam when his legs folded up underneath him, nearly sending them both to the floor. Finn, displaying a remarkable sense of timing, emerged from the kitchen, and the two brothers managed to manhandle Adam to the couch.   
  


He lay there, eyes wide, but Barry was sure he wasn't seeing the room in front of him. Adam's mind was firmly entrenched a thousand miles and thirty thousand years away. Finn grabbed a crystal decanter of old brandy from the sideboard, and splashed three fingers' worth into a shot glass. Barry took it, and, without ceremony, dumped the contents down Adam's throat.  
  


Choking, Adam knocked the heavy crystal glass away. It shattered on the floor, but no one noticed. He inhaled sharply as awareness returned to his eyes and features. And to Barry and Finn, it looked as thought he'd just aged a hundred years in a moment.  
  


"Where is Arwen?"  
  


Barry could only smile at him, a little sadly. "'And the Tower Guard took up the call'."   
  


Finn sprawled down next to Adam, resting his head companionably on his shoulder. "'The lords of Gondor have returned.'" 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  



	20. We'll always have Paris Part I

Authors' Note: *Blushes* Sorry. * waves white flag of truce at rabid mob* It's actually not our fault this time. One of our betas has had this chapter for over three weeks and she only returned it to us tonight. But here it is, a great bid chapter that clocks in a ten pages. Part two should be up tomorrow, or by the end of the weekend at the latest. Also with the end of exams and the Christmas holidays almost upon us, we should start to write and post a bit more....really. Anyway, please don't abandon us, as some of you have threatened. We love all of you, and we really do try to post as often as we can. Life just seems to happen to us a lot.

Cheers, The Nightrunners.

P.S : Lembas cookies to those who spot the cheesy pop culture reference and the really bad pun in this chapter. 

  
  


We'll always have Paris- Part I

  
  


Soundtrack : Life in A Nutshell (Barenaked Ladies) 

  
  


When she was three  
Her barbies always did it on the first date  
Now she's with me,  
There's never any need for them to demonstrate  
She's like a baby, I'm like a cat;  
When we are happy, we both get fat and still  
it's never enough, it's never enough,  
it's never enough  
  
Chorus:  
But I don't tend to worry about the things that other people say,  
And I'm learning that I wouldn't want it any other way  
Call me crazy, but it really doesn't matter  
All that matters to me is she  
  
Her life, in a nutshell  
No way would she want it to change me  
it's not that easy 'cause  
My time is often decided for me  
For me  
  
She memorized every pencil crayon colour in the box  
Her blue-green eyes complement the burn sienna in her locks  
She's at the movies, I'm on the phone;  
When we're separated, we're never alone, but still  
it's never enough, it's never enough,  
No it's never enough  
  
Chorus  
  
I fell down  
With no one there to catch me from falling  
Then she came 'round  
And only her tenderness stopped me from bawling my eyes out  
I'm OK  
And that's why  
Her life, in a nutshell ...   
  


  
  
  
  


Gabe ran an admiring hand over the marble balustrade in the lobby. A moment later, Glorfindel noticed that he was no longer following, and stopped accordingly halfway up the ornate staircase.

  
  


"This stonework is beautiful," Gabe said, reverently tracing a pattern with a finger. It was truly stunning work, with all the whirling elven grace that had been perfected by countless millennia of practice.

  
  
  
  


Glorfindel smiled, but the reply came from a newcomer.

  
  


"Ah, but does this assessment come from a good dwarven miner, or the eminent geologist Dr. Gleason?"

  
  


Gabe inclined his head respectfully towards the speaker. "My lady. An honour."

  
  


Galadriel descended to greet him, inclining her head in return. Glorfindel disappeared discreetly as she reached his level, leaving the two alone. She broke the solemn atmosphere with a sudden laugh. "It's wonderful to see you."

  
  


"I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

  
  


The elven queen gave him a penetrating stare, then broke once more into a wide smile. "Perhaps not," she agreed.

  
  


"Reading my mind, Lady?"

  
  


"Just a little bit," she replied, her tone mischievous. 

  
  


"Find anything interesting?" he asked, smiling slyly.

  
  


She laughed again, a sound that was at once ancient and wonderfully youthful. Gabe revelled in it. "If I had, I certainly wouldn't tell," she admonished. "Presumptuous dwarf." The brightness in her voice robbed her words of any possible sting. 

  
  


Galadriel pushed him away, her laughter still echoing through the lobby. She waved a hand once more towards the stonework. "And you never answered my question. Were you speaking as Dr. Gleason or the Lord of the Glittering Caves?"

  
  


He shrugged, still smiling. "A little bit of both, I think," he confessed.

The Lady of the Golden Wood nodded. "A wise answer," she replied. Her tone reminded him forcefully of the beautiful enchantress he had met thousands of years ago. Her face was slowly regaining its more customary serene expression, though her eyes still sparkled. "You know, there's an old friend of yours here. We're patching him up."

  
  


"Thank you, Lady." The reply was simple, but Galadriel heard within it a world of gratitude and relief. To her it was a balm, as soothing as her laughter had earlier been to Gabe.

  
  


"Gabe!"

  
  


The older man turned to see Mark skidding across the lobby. Tractor-treaded boots had no grip to rival the sheer shininess of the lobby floor. The rocker looked extremely annoyed at this development, but one of his hands caught the stair rail and he grinned, thankful to regain his balance.

.

  
  


"Catch." Mark lobbed something to Gabe. It glittered as it flew through the air, and the other man caught it one-handed. He took one look and his eyebrows hit his hairline.

  
  


"Mark, where did you get this?"

  
  


Mark gave him a smile that was pure Hobbit. "Peter and I did some shopping today."

  
  


"Really? And how many shops in Paris carry jewellery *this* antique?"

  
  


Mark shrugged. "If we told you, you wouldn't believe it. Will you take it? I feel kind of weird carrying it. It was in the same pocket as Mom's ring used to be, and it didn't feel right. Sorry."

  
  


"Don't worry about it." Gabe turned to Galadriel. "Will you take care of this? I don't want to get pulled into this thirty thousand year love affair, not if I can help it. Besides, I lose everything I put in my pockets."

  
  


Galadriel nodded. "I'll handle it."

  
  


Mark trotted off down another hall, presumably in search of Peter, who'd vanished some time ago. The Elven Queen smiled at Gabe.

  
  


"Perhaps you would allow me to offer you a tour of Goldenwood? I understand it can become rather confusing to visitors."

  
  


"I would enjoy that." Gabe offered his arm to the elven queen, which she accepted with becoming grace. Together they ascended the sweeping staircase, heading deeper into the maze that was Goldenwood Enterprises.

  
  


But when they passed Erestor in the hall, Galadriel tossed him something surreptitiously. It glittered in the light, and *clinked* against his palm.

  
  


**********

From Erestor to Galdor:

  
  


"Don't you dare, Erestor. There's no way I'm taking that thing."

  
  


"Galadriel told me to tell you to handle it." 

  
  


"What in the name of Elbereth am *I* supposed to do with it?"

  
  


"I don't know, you figure it out! But you shouldn't let Estel see. He's already had a pretty good breakdown today, and that would definitely add to it. And don't give it to the Twins. Or Elrond or Celebrian. Or even Arwen, for that matter."

  
  


"You know what'll happen if any of the Peredhel find me with this thing? The Twins will kick my ass, Elrond will have me shot, Celebrian will give me that *look*, and Arwen will probably electrocute me." He sighed. "I hate you, you know that?"

  
  


**********

From Galdor to Rumil and Orophin:

  
  


The two brothers stared at the little glittery object between them like they expected it to explode.

  
  


"I don't want it."

  
  


"Well, I'm not taking it."

  
  


"We can't just leave it here, you know. Someone might step on it. One of the Elflings might choke on it."

  
  


"I hate Galdor."

  
  


"Me too. Let's go find Haldir. He's paid more than we are, anyways. Let *him* deal with this." 

  
  


********** 

  
  


Alice was dead tired. Metabolizing vast amounts of alcohol to treat oneself for the shock of nearly being run over by a train was fine, but you did eventually come down off the buzz, and it left you feeling more drained than before.

  
  


" So beautiful lady, would you care to join your admiring people for song and drink around the fire?"

  
  


"Piss off, Haldir. I'm tired. I've been chased around Paris, used myself up in terms of magical energy, was almost run over by a train. Then I got home to find a pissed off dwarf and our elf missing. I'm not in the mood for foppish flirtations."

  
  


"He doesn't mean it like that, Arwen. We've just missed our Tinuviel, that's all."

  
  


Alice gave the tall elf a small, tired smile. "Thank you, Glorfindel. If you could show me somewhere where I could crash for a couple of hours, I'd like very much to join you after I've had some sleep."

  
  


"Of course, m'lady."

  
  


Haldir and Glorfindel led to Alice in a well-appointed room with a large cushy couch, just down the hall from the common room. About twenty seconds after they'd left her, the elves heard twin screams of surprise ringing down the hall.

  
  


"That sounded like the Twins."

  
  


"It did." Glorfindel paused. " Elrond *did* tell them that Arwen was arriving today didn't he?"

  
  


"Apparently not."

  
  


"Elrond did tell the Twins that Arwen was *alive*, didn't he?"

  
  


"Apparently not."

  
  


Rounding the corner, Haldir saw his younger brothers appear at the end of the hall. They grinned when they saw him. Little alarm bells began ringing in his head.

  
  


Rumil tossed something that was small and sparkly. Glorfindel, woefully ignorant of the fate to which he was consigning himself, snatched it from the air.

  
  


When he realized exactly what it was, he swore repeatedly in elvish, then in a few dead languages for good measure. Haldir felt euphoria rise within him as he realized exactly what he'd just avoided.

  
  


Orophin grinned, then, in an annoyingly sing-song tone: "Galadriel said you could handle it."

  
  


**********

  
  


"This place is fucking *enormous*."

  
  


Peter Taylor, reincarnated hobbit-rocker extraordinare, walked the halls of Goldenwood Enterprises with this thought firmly in mind. Of course, was getting a rather circuitous *self*-guided tour, having managed to wander away less than four minutes after Glorfindel had led them through the main entrance. A record, even for him.

  
  


The official headquarters of GW Enterprises was located in Wellington, New Zealand, Peter had learned, but the Paris branch was the largest. It rose for hundreds of stories, from the very bowels of the Paris, towering above the streets and the pedways, soaring into the frozen world above. Inside, it was a rabbit's warren of tree-lined corridors, offices, atriums, living quarters and gardens.

  
  


At the moment, Peter guessed he was on one of the office levels. He was wandering down an endless corridor, empty at this late hour of even the most fanatically workaholic elf. Many people would have been nervous at this point; Peter, however, was a child of the Necropolis streets, and one who had recently spent an entire day in subterranean Paris. Comparatively, Goldenwood Enterprises was a cakewalk.

  
  


"Probably shouldn't have gone up those stairs." It had been a little spiral staircase smack in the middle of one hall, and he had followed it on the assumption that he couldn't get any more lost. Peter had, occasionally, a very relaxed attitude towards his own personal safety. It usually got him into trouble.

  
  


"Who puts a staircase in the middle of the hall, anyways?" It had ended two floors up, with no way to get off on the middle floor. You could tell the place had been designed by elves, because it was unfathomable to anyone with a mortal brain.

  
  


His footfalls didn't echo in the big corridor. Years in the streets and a lifetime's worth of hobbit-memory had taught him how to go quietly. So he counted doors as he went, practising drum taps in his head, wondering where the hell Merry, Glorfindel, and the rest of the bloody elves had gone.

  
  


Then the big hall was slightly less empty. Some distance ahead, a tall man with brown hair exited one of the offices, carrying a stack of files. Whistling, he strode off down the hall, Peter trotting behind him.

  
  


The big man was walking fast, but not so fast that Peter couldn't catch up. Being the gregarious soul that he was, he wanted the company. Plus, he really didn't know the way out of here, or, more importantly, the location of the nearest toilet.

  
  


When he was about ten steps behind, realization slowly began to dawn. Something about the way the man moved, the easy grace of his stride, how he seemed to fit seamlessly into the surroundings- all this stirred recognition in Peter's mind. He followed the path of the memory, a smile growing across his face when he discovered exactly where it led.

  
  


So he hurried up soundlessly behind the man, and caught hold of a shirt sleeve.

  
  


"Hi."

  
  


Barry Stuart, moderately happy with his current existence, had gone to fetch some files at the request of Celeborn upon leaving Adam and Finn. He'd gone three quarters of the way down the hall unaware of his shadow, a realization which would later annoyed him.

  
  


Fortunately for Peter, the other man didn't lash out at the unexpected intrusion; his voice bypassed all of Barry's aggressive instincts, flying deeper and triggering a very, very old affection that surfaced very suddenly.

  
  


So Barry turned, smiling at who he knew would be there. And unconsciously, looked downwards.

  
  


So it was somewhat jarring to see the face at eye level with his own, hazel eyes sparkling, and a grin more common to Cheshire Cats than human beings. Barry was equally unprepared for the pair of arms level to his own, and then Peter was hugging him hard enough to crack ribs.

  
  


He laughed while trying to draw breath at the same time, the files tumbling from his arms as he returned the favour.

  
  


"Nice to see you too, Pippin." 

  
  


************

Finn paced around the somewhat overbearing waiting room. He was quite bored, and didn't see any chance of said boredom being relieved any time soon. Barry had left him with the still shell-shocked Adam, while he went off to run an errand for Celeborn.

  
  


"All right, that's it. I'm going to see if I can get a decent cup of coffee, and possibly try to find my wife or someone else we know." He turned to look at Adam, who was sitting on the brown leather couch, head buried in his hands. " Will you be okay if I leave you here?" Taking his friend's lack of response as a positive sign, Finn quietly left the room in search of caffeine.

  
  


Adam eventually gave up trying to puzzle out the meaning of life, the universe and why he'd left Arwen alone several millennia ago. He vaguely recalled Finn saying something about coffee and decided that a nice cup of java would probably make his world look a lot clearer. 

  
  


He wandered up and down several corridors, all decorated in what he now recognized as tasteful elvish style. He wasn't quite sure how he *knew* that this was considered to be tasteful elvish, but considering he felt like someone had unscrewed the back of his head and dumped a second person into his brain, he figured he was lucky to be recognizing anything at all.

  
  


The hallway in which he found himself was lined with photos and portraits, most of them showing elves dressed in clothing from various time periods. One painting in particular caught his attention. 

  
  


It was an old canvas, showing man and a woman with dark hair, wearing crowns and formal clothing of an archaic style. It looked like a wedding portrait. Under the frame, a discreet brass plaque read 'King Elessar Telecontar and Queen Arwen Undómiel'. Recognition dawned in Adam's eyes.

  
  


//Have you been here all along?//

  
  


In the darkness behind his eyes Adam could see the man from the picture smile at him and shake his head. //Of course I have, you fool. You've just been too dense to listen to me.//

  
  


"It's a lovely picture, isn't it?"

  
  


Adam turned to see Glorfindel standing just behind him. "Yes, it is."

  
  


"Of course, it's not the original. I think we've had it repainted nearly a hundred times over the years. "

  
  


Adam smiled at the older elf. "I remember wearing that outfit. The collar itched."

  
  


"You know that you can't avoid her forever, even by thinking about itchy collars."

  
  


"I know that." Adam sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "My first problem would be finding find her. This place is like a rabbit's warren, and I don't quite know where *I* am, much less where to start looking for someone else."

  
  


"Perhaps your heart has already led you to where you need to be," replied Glorfindel, pointing at the door in front of them. Then he burst out laughing " God! I sound like a bad fortune cookie. Next thing you know, I'll be calling people 'grasshopper' and saying stupid things like 'wax on, wax off'. Remind me to never watch old movies with the Galadrhim again."

  
  


Adam gave him a blank look.

  
  


"Never mind, it was before your time." He paused to think. " In fact, it was both before and after your time. Weird." He shook his head , then continued. "Just go talk to her, and try not to screw things up too much this time, will you?" 

  
  


"I think I can do that."

  
  


"Good boy." said Glorfindel, giving Adam a slight push in the direction of the door. Then he stopped, wincing. "Wait a moment." He pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it to the other man. "For luck."

  
  


Adam glanced at his hand. Small and glittering, blade-sharp facets that cut the light. He pocketed the trinket, and took a deep breath as the door swung open, revealing Alice Starr looking back at him from a chair across the room.

  
  


"Hello, "melisse"."

  
  


************

  
  


After the initial shock had worn off and they'd finished screaming their heads off, Elladan and Elrohir had quite enjoyed getting to know the woman who was their sister. When Adam walked into the room, however, they got a definite signal that visiting time with Arwen was over. It had something to do with the way neither Adam nor Alice responded to anything, including Elrohir shouting into their ears. It was also the way they didn't take their eyes off one another even when Elladan waved his hands in front of them.

  
  


"Yes, well, we'll just be going now, shall we?"

  
  


" That might be a good idea, brother. Their brains are off in bluebird. We'll close the door behind us."

  
  


************

  
  


"Peter, there you are! Where the hell did you go? I was -oh, hi Boromir, how've you been?" Mark, apparently, could switch mental gears like other people switched shoes.

  
  


Barry shrugged. "Well, I was dead. Then I was dead some more. And then I got reincarnated, by a stroke of luck, as an incredibly rich and handsome bugger, and now I'm probably going to help save the world. Hopefully without dying again."

  
  


Mark grinned. "No kidding? Me too!" 

  
  


Barry grinned back. "So, where are your friends?"

  
  


"Sam and Felix?" Mark shrugged. "Dunno."

  
  


Peter rolled his eyes and mumbled, "Probably off in a broom closet together..."

  
  


"*Peter!*"

  
  


Barry watched, bemused, as Mark poked Peter. Hard.

  
  


"What?" Peter said defensively, rubbing his arm. "They probably are."

  
  


"Actually," said a mild voice from the end of the hall, "they found the kitchens, and decided to be kind and bring food to their hungry friends."

  
  


Sam and Felix came into view, led by Haldir. They were both carrying what looked like a portable three-course meal in cardboard take-out cartons.

  
  


"However," Sam added, "after the 'broom closet' comment, we're not feeling inclined to share."

  
  


"Nonononono! Share! Please?" Mark's tone was downright whiny and Peter's expression was edging towards downright hysterical.

  
  


The other two were unmoved. "Not a chance," Felix replied.

  
  


"If you don't share willingly, we take it by force!" With this, both Mark and Peter charged their companions. 

  
  


Sam quickly tossed all the food to Felix, who set off down the hallway at a dead run. Meanwhile, Sam stayed heroically behind to delay the attackers. "Go Felix! Protect the food at all costs!" he shouted before being overwhelmed by two hungry oversized hobbits.

  
  


Haldir stepped delicately to one side, where Barry was watching with both eyebrows raised. "Dammit. That old saying is true, isn't it?"

  
  


"What saying would that be?" Haldir asked, watching the scene with amusement.

  
  


"The more things change, the more things stay the same." 

  
  


" *Could* you be more cliché?"

  
  


"Force of Hobbit?"

  
  


"Shut up, Barry" 

  
  



	21. We'll always have Paris Part II

Authors' Note: As we promised, the second part of the chapter. Please use the same soundtrack for this, although we aren't quite sure if it's still applicable. We don't really know when the next chapter will be up, but it should be sometime during Christmas, after Trilogy Tuesday however. We really hope everyone enjoys the RotK premier on the 17th.

The Nightrunners

  
  


We'll always have Paris- Part II

  
  


Felix wandered through a maze of corridors. He vaguely recognized his surroundings as the office levels of Goldenwood Enterprises, but one which was strangely devoid of the bustle that he had come to associate with the powerful technology company. He walked down one silent corridor, seeing nobody, hearing no sound except for the echo of his own footfalls. 

  
  


He shivered, fighting the urge to call out. But the walls seemed to press in on him, and he finally gave in to the impulse. "Is anybody there? Can anyone hear me?"

  
  


The hallway seemed to take his voice and amplify it, until all he could hear was his own voice, echoing and reechoing, distorting itself until it became a low-pitched moan in his ears, coming from all directions at once. Faintly, over the din, he thought he heard somebody screaming.

  
  


Sinking to the floor, he clapped his hands over his ears. His own voice, twisted beyond recognition, jabbered at him: "Anybodythereanybodythereanybodythere?"

  
  


"Stop it!" he screamed, but this only added to the cacophony, as his own voice screamed right back at him. Leaning against the wall, he drew his knees up to his face and tucked his head in, as if this could shield him from the nightmarish voice. 

  
  


And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the noise stopped. Felix jerked his head up, just in time to see a shadow slither around the corner at the end of the hall. He stood up suddenly, reaching in his boot for his knife. "Damn it, I'm the Ringbearer. I'm the goddamn Ringbearer and I *refuse* to cower from shadows and voices anymore!"

  
  


He ran down the hall, pursuing the shadow. He rounded to the corner, only to find an open atrium. He stopped dead, in horror of the scene before him.

  
  


It was freezing cold. The skylights far above had shattered, bringing down snow, broken glass and icy biting wind. On top of the snowdrifts, staining them to red slush, were countless sprawled forms. He approached the nearest and carefully rolled him over. It was Haldir, his features distorted in a mask of pain and fear, and his hands frozen into claws. 

  
  


Felix stumbled away, revulsion rising, and almost tripped over another elf. He gasped when he saw it was Elrond, impossible to mistaken, even though half his face was torn away. Only his eyes gave him away, and they were fixed on some point far above Felix's head. Felix followed the dead elf's gaze, and he froze.

  
  


It was Galadriel, hanging from one of the trees in the atrium, which were now twisted and withered. She wore a once-white gown which hung in bloody tatters around her battered body.

  
  


Felix tore his gaze away, but not before realizing that the elven queen had been tortured before she died.

  
  


Panic flooded him, and he ran, dodging bodies of people he knew, elves and men alike. Here, he saw Alice spread-eagled on the floor, her limbs contorted and rigor mortis setting in. A few feet away Adam lay, his arm outstretched towards her, frozen in a last act of desperation. Here was Legolas, and Gabe, Barry, Mark, Peter, everyone he knew, everyone he loved and cherished...and beyond all of them...

  
  


...he slid, stumbling in the bloody snow, dropping to his knees, but there was no mistaking that blond, shaggy hair, and the blue eyes that stared at him, his face locked in a final scream.

  
  


Samohsamohsamohsamohsamoh- 

  
  


Felix cradled Sam's head, heedless of his gore-covered hands. "No, please, nonono..." he murmured, unaware of his own words in the crypt-like silence of the atrium, unaware of the tears that streamed down his face. Sam stiffened suddenly in his arms, and Felix threw himself away, rolling through the slush and coming up in a crouch.

  
  


Sam's torso raised itself, stiffly, unaided, and the macabre scene made Felix want to scream. His dead, blank gaze met Felix's, and his face split suddenly in a death's head grin. "Don't cry, lover," he said, but it wasn't his voice, it was Trish's, and it was a horrible parody of his normal compassionate tone. His unnatural grin threatened to split his face in two, and he reached one stiff arm towards Felix. 

  
  


"Cheer up. Remember, we'll always have Paris." 

  
  


Felix woke up screaming. 

  
  
  
  


************ 

  
  


Gabe, Mark and Peter were camped out in one of the Elves' comfortably appointed living rooms. There was a blaze roaring in the big fireplace, filling the room with warmth and flickering light. Sam and Felix were absent; the latter had been quiet at dinner, his face drawn and his blue eyes bruised with fatigue. Gabe recalled that Felix's attempt at sleep earlier in the day had brought on another nightmare, one so violent that it had startled Galadriel and some of Goldenwood's more psychically aware denizens. It had taken Sam at his most persuasive, plus a few Valium, to get Felix even within shouting distance of a REM cycle later that night. Adam and Alice had vanished without a trace, but Gabe assumed they had issues of their own to work out. This left two rockers and one ex-dwarf to keep the late-night vigil for news. 

  
  


Peter lay sprawled in a extremely comfortable leather armchair, his legs swung over one of the arms. Mark was curled like a dog on the rug in front of the fire, his eyes flickering as he dozed. Gabe, however, was unable to relax. He'd sit for a moment, shift position, then stand and pace restlessly around the room before returning to his seat and starting the whole process over again.

  
  


This cycle might have been repeated indefinitely, had Peter not rolled his head towards the other man. "Christ, will you sit still? You're making me dizzy."

  
  


Gabe huffed, and consciously tried to keep still. This lasted for approximately fifteen seconds before he was on his feet again. "It's not going to happen, hobbit. Sorry."

  
  


Peter tipped his head back and let out a groan of exhaustion. "And you guys think *I'm* the hyperactive one."

  
  


"It's not that late, you know."

  
  


"Jet lag. Jet lag!"

  
  


"Peter, we flew *east*. It's earlier here. Besides, you've had three days to get over it, so that's not an excuse anymore."

  
  


"No. I've never left New York in my life. You can't expect me to hop across time zones and be perfectly fine. Besides, I've had a busy day."

  
  


Gabe winced, inwardly agreeing with the last statement. Had it actually been that morning that they'd been drinking coffee in their little apartment kitchen, playing Strategists and Tacticians of the Great Reborn Fellowship Parisian Campaign?

  
  


Gabe knew he was getting tired when he started thinking in capital letters.

  
  


This morning seemed like something that had happened last year. Scratch that, it felt like another lifetime. Gabe was exhausted, but buzzing with the adrenaline that comes from riding the edge of reason. Nine hours since Legolas had gone under the knife. Nine hours since arriving at Goldenwood and being carted off to surgery by Elrond and his team of medics, and there had been no word since.

  
  


Gabe hadn't been raised particularly religiously, which was irritating later in life when you had something you really needed to beg for. It was easier to address those desperate pleas to a higher power. However, lacking an addressee, for the past nine hours, hell, the past three days, the mantra that had settled around his heart was a simple one; more like a wish than a prayer. 

  
  
  
  


//Don't let him die, don't let him die, don't let him die.//

  
  


It had worked for three days. It had kept him functioning and sane while his best friend was dying and he could do nothing. Gabe had decided that if there was a soldier's hell at the end of life, it couldn't hold a candle to this purgatory of waiting.

  
  


Mark's eyes flicked open and he sat up as the door swung open. Glorfindel walked in, his golden hair mussed, his face blank and unreadable. 

  
  


"We've got news."

  
  


Gabe was out of his chair in an instant. "What is it?"

  
  


The Eldar's face suddenly split into a grin of pure relief. "He's out of surgery. He survived."

  
  


Peter let out a whoop that made four elves in the next room jump, and he and Mark did a strange, complicated little victory dance that looked as though it had been choreographed several years ago and practiced exhaustively ever since.

  
  


Gabe sat down heavily, just because he couldn't stand anymore. There was no word for the relief- no, he corrected himself, it was closer to absolute fucking *euphoria* that blew through him at Glorfindel's words. He laughed, but that was only because he didn't want to cry.

  
  


"When can we see him?" asked Gabe, managing to stand, if a little unsteadily.

  
  


The emotion in his voice must have gotten through to the Elf, or maybe it was like Legolas had once said; living forever gives you a long time to become perceptive. Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "You can come in for a minute. Just for a moment, just so you can see him. He's still unconscious, so I wouldn't expect a coherent conversation. Then you lot have to get some sleep, and believe me when I say we'll tranquillize you if necessary. Come with me."

  
  


Gabe had managed to work up to a brisk stumble by the time he made it to the door, two hobbits close on his heels. In the distance, he could hear cheers, voices raised in jubilation, and it brought a exhausted smile to his face. Nice to know he'd not been the only one spending sleepless nights over a certain Elven Prince.

  
  


Glorfindel led them up three levels, and down a sterile corridor that branched off into several small medical suites. They passed a crew of tired Elvish orderlies, who nonetheless smiled at them as they passed. Elrond emerged from one of the side rooms, looking as though he'd been caught halfway through changing. His hair was pulled into a ponytail, and he was dressed in loose green hospital pants. He looked as tired as his orderlies, but he managed the ghost of a smile. "Thranduil certainly raised a stubborn bastard, I'll give him that. But I will tell you, you gentlemen did well in getting him stabilized in Paris as quickly as you could, where we could reach him. If we had been even a day later..." the healer trailed off, and shrugged. "But there are forces that move in this world beyond the comprehension of Men and Elves. We owe you our gratitude, and Legolas owes you his life."

  
  


Elrond nodded to one of the hospital rooms. "He's in there. We had to add six titanium vertebrae to his spine, and there was some extremely delicate work involved in reattaching some severed nerves, not to mention the internal injuries. He had four broken ribs, and a broken clavicle, damage to his lungs, liver, and diaphragm, and a lot of internal bleeding. Too much damage for his system to cope with alone, but I must say, he pulled through admirably. We'll be keeping him here overnight, but we anticipate having no trouble moving him to one of the general living rooms in the morning. He'll certainly be more comfortable there, at any rate."

  
  


Gabe could only nod blindly, dazed by the rapidity of Elven healing. How the scales of life and death, so evenly balanced only hours ago, could suddenly swing towards life, leaving scars that would heal in a week and any trauma a distant memory.

  
  
  
  


He moved past Elrond and Glorfindel, through the door and stared down at his friend. The Elves could say what they wanted about recovery, but Legolas looked like death. His skin was frost-pale, and his bare chest was covered with dressings to cover the surgical incisions. Gabe counted four on his front, and knew there were more along his back. An IV tube ran into his arm, dripping a clear fluid that Gabe suspected to be morphine. The heart rate monitor set a constant, comforting tempo that added a sense of surreality to an already unreal scene.

  
  


Gabe knew he wasn't thinking clearly, that exhaustion had muddied his thought process past the point where even *he* couldn't understand exactly what he was thinking. Then Legolas's eyes flickered, heavy with pain and drugs, and Gabe was giddily reminded of that moment in all bad horror films when the corpse sits up on the coroner's table and starts strangling people.

  
  


And it seemed that Legolas wasn't thinking any more clearly than he was, because his mind seemed stuck thirty thousand years in the past. He mumbled a few Elvish words, then looked straight at Gabe.

  
  


"Mellon-nin?" he whispered, barely more than a breath.

  
  


"Yeah." he answered. "It's me. You're you. It's all okay."

  
  



	22. So gracious is the time

Authors' Note: Well, here we are. We would like to announce that we've just moved into a new homepage. The address can be found on our bio page. Beware of pop up Ads!!! Also, please feel free to use the message board and to send us fan art if you wish. In the mean time, enjoy the chapter.

The Nightrunners   
  


So gracious is the time.   


Soundtrack: A Man ( Alanis Morissette)

I am a man as a man I've been told  
Bacon is brought to the house in this mold  
Born of your bellies I yearn for the cord  
Years I have groveled repentance ignored  
  
And I have been blamed  
And I have repented  
I'm working my way toward our union mended  
  
I am man who has grown from a son  
Been crucified by enraged women  
I am son who was raised by such men  
I'm often reminded of the fools I'm among  
  
And I have been shamed  
And I have relented  
I'm working my way toward our union mended  
And I have been shamed  
And I have repented  
I'm working my way toward our union mended  
  
We don't fare well with endless reprimands  
We don't do well with a life served as a sentence  
This won't work well if you're hell bent on your offence  
I am a man who understands your resistance  
  
I am a man who still does what he can  
To dispel our archaic reputation  
I am a man who has heard all he can  
Cuz I don't fare well with endless punishment  
  
Cuz I have been blamed and I have repented  
I'm working my way toward our union mended  
And we have been blamed and we have repented  
I'm working my way toward our union mended   
  
  
  


Awareness, when it came, was sudden. It literally felt as though someone had flicked a light switch in my brain, returning me instantly to consciousness.  
  


Outwardly, I knew I hadn't even twitched. Since I had no idea where I was, I didn't want to give any sign of waking. But the fact that the pain in my back had dwindled to a tolerable ache was a definite reassurance that I was among friends.  
  


Sunlight glowed behind my closed eyes. I was bare to the waist on a very comfortable bed, but covered quite decently by a layer of blankets. There was no point delaying the inevitable, so I opened my eyes.  
  


My immediate impression was of a tower bedchamber. Morning sunlight streamed through enormous windows, over the pale walls and the rough, dark hardwood floor. I was lying in a rather ornate old bed, with clean white sheets. The room was otherwise empty, save for a chair beside the bed and one very familiar Marchwarden.  
  


Haldir the ex-Galadhrim sat staring into space, his eyes dull with sleep. He was dressed in a corded black sweater and jeans so old they must have witnessed the dawn of several centuries. His bare feet were propped on the bed.  
  


The moment I shifted position, however, he snapped back to awareness and focussed to me before I could blink.   
  


"Nice to know time hasn't atrophied *your* skills, Mister Marchwarden." I said. My voice felt scratchy with disuse, and I wondered for a moment how long I'd been unconscious. "Sleeping on watch?"  
  


Haldir smiled, and the pure soppy *relief* on his face made me wish for a camera, for blackmail purposes, obviously. "Good morning, princeling."  
  


I grinned in return. "Good morning yourself." I arched my back and stretched, hearing the organic crackle that seemed to indicate my vertebrae were rearranging themselves. Haldir poured me a glass of water from a pitcher beside the bed and I drank, realizing how dry my throat felt.  
  


"How do you feel?" he asked, setting the glass aside.  
  


"Stiff," I answered, limbering muscles in my neck and shoulders. The agonizing pain had nearly faded completely, which gave me a fairly good indication of who had tended me. That left only one question. "Where am I?"  
  


"The Halls of Mandos." he answered matter-of-factly. "I'm God."  
  


I fell back theatrically against the pillows. "Damn. You try to lead a good life and see where it gets you? Stuck in the afterlife...and Haldir is God."  
  


Even Haldir looked disturbed at that prospect.  
  


"So where are we, really?" I asked, abandoning efforts on my neck and beginning to work the muscles of my arms. "What's going on?"  
  


"Well," Haldir began, "We're in the White City."  
  


"Thank God."  
  


"No, thank your friends. They got you here after your little tumble with the Nazgul. Please don't ever do that again."  
  


"What, swan-diving with the Witch-Queen?"  
  


"Yes, that. Game, set, match, goodnight sweet prince. If it hadn't been for Mithrandir-"  
  


"Wait, hold on, Mithrandir is *here*?"  
  


"Yes, he's the one who brought you in. We knew you were in Paris, but we couldn't track you down. You apparently sent out a psychic call loud enough to shake his synapses loose. I didn't know you could do that."  
  


"Neither did I. I mean, I didn't know it was going to work, but what did I have to lose?" I stretched out one last kink and grimaced. "How long have I been here?"  
  


"Three days. You've been in Paris for nearly a week."   
  


I wiggled my toes experimentally, then I shifted to a kneeling position. "Can we get out of here? I have feeling in all my limbs, the room's not spinning, and my vertebrae appear to be stacked in the proper order. So can we leave?"  
  


Haldir looked dubious. "Elrond will kill me. He'd kill you too, only he invested so much time and effort in getting you back into working order."  
  


I laughed. I couldn't help myself; it was the sunlight, the room, and the sheer joy of being alive. I leaned forward into a cat-stretch, then vaulted forward into a handstand over the baseboard. Unfortunately for me, a few muscles decided not to cooperate after their period of enforced inactivity. I flipped out of the handstand and landed rather harder than I meant on the floor. Haldir smirked at me. I glared. "I really am feeling much better."  
  


He just rolled his eyes. "Just don't blame me when Elrond dumps your sorry ass back in bed for the next week. Sit tight. I'll bring you some clothes."  
  


"Clothes." I glanced down at the loose sleeping pants that were providing some degree of modesty. "Good idea."  
  


The blond elf returned a moment later, carrying a loose white robe with wide sleeves. He observed me critically. "It's rather open, but you won't freeze." He tossed it to me. "Come on."  
  


Haldir led the way down the hall, to a set of spiral stairs that descended to a series of swinging catwalks over an enormous atrium room. Trees grew straight from the ground, heavy with moss and hanging vines. Vast networks of ivy crisscrossed the stone walls. A spring welled from the rock above, sending water falling in a cold cascade that glinted in the sunlight.  
  


He stopped to let me stare, and listen to the easy rustle and whisper of the secret voices and the great silent heartbeat of this little forest. "This place is beautiful. But can you hear them?" I gestured to the trees below. "They're mournful."  
  


"Yes," said Haldir. "They're alone. They're the only surface trees standing for hundreds of kilometres."   
  


He led me along the catwalk, out of the atrium, and into a long corridor. Haldir dropped back to fall into step beside me. "I'll take you to the gymnasium. Some of your friends may be there, and I'm sure they'll want to know that you're up and about."  
  


We came to a set of double doors, which he pushed open. It was a vast, airy room, with high ceilings and tall windows. It was, however, bereft of any reincarnated Fellowship members.  
  


Elladan and Elrohir were sparring in the middle of the room. Both were dressed in identical grey gi, their dark hair bound into loose braids. As we watched, the twins traded blows and blocked attacks as quickly as the eye could follow.   
  


As fighters, they were beautiful to watch. Balletic grace flowed through each attack and thwarted blow as the Twins moved across the floor, leaping, dodging, and parrying. Swift and deadly, bodies and instincts honed to the sharpest fighting precision.  
  


Then Elladan turned and caught sight of me. His mouth dropped open in surprise - and, in that moment of distraction, Elrohir caught him with an open-palmed blow to the chest that sent him flying.  
  


Elladan hit the floor with a stream of unprintable elvish profanity as Elrohir lunged towards me. "Legolas!"  
  


He caught me in a tight embrace, laughing as he did so. "Ada was so worried, not that he said anything, but we could tell."  
  


He broke off there, and just hugged me tighter as his brother, still growling under his breath, caught me from behind. "You great blond wanker. Don't you *ever* do that again, you hear me? I don't need that kind of stress in my eternal life."  
  


The Twins settled themselves in a patch of sunlight on the floor, sprawling out like two big cats. Haldir and I sat next to them. "So," I began, "Bring me up to speed. What happened while I was out?"  
  


Elrohir, Elladan, and Haldir each took a deep breath. Uh-oh. "Well, it was a minor adventure getting you here-"  
  


"-Since none of your friends knew who to trust in Paris, because *you* decided to be all self-sacrificing and heroic by not mentioning your Goldenwood contacts to anyone beforehand-"  
  


"-Who, by the way, were out of their *minds* with worry when you vanished off the flight path, thank you very much-"  
  


"-and since your friends aren't exactly the trusting type, they managed to hide out in Paris for more than three days before we found them, and believe me when I say we've got the best spy network in the city-"  
  


"-Your lovely lady friend took offense to her shadow and nearly ran her over with a train-"  
  


"-Hey, that's our sister you're talking about, you know-"  
  


"-*Thank* you, I know that, I wasn't finished. Alice tried to kill Erin Stuart, that's Eowyn, by the way, from the Ithillien Intelligence branch. But they seem to be over that now. And then your friend Adam-"  
  


"-Scientific name: Stubborn Brother Bastardus-"  
  


"-Met up with his old nest brothers, Barry and Finn Stuart, Barry representing our covert partner in White City Enterprises. They seemed to be the catalyst that triggered Adam's repressed memories-"  
  


"-He kinda went catatonic, but he's okay now-"  
  


"-Just as long as Ada doesn't catch up with him, he's not as happy to see Estel as we are-" 

"-Your hobbit friends, Felix and Sam, reported a cryptic meeting with Darryl Stuart, CEO of White City Enterprises, which leads us to believe he can no longer be counted even *marginally* among our allies-"  
  


"-Always knew he was a prat-"

"-and Peter Taylor and Mark Anderson Brand managed to alienate at least half of the Parisian mage community in a single afternoon. All of which culminated in enough of a distraction that ensured that Mithrandir, Glorfindel and I could remove you from the apartment without alerting your Dwarven watchdog."  
  


"It would have been a total bugger trying to get him to trust us without signed affidavits from the Dalai Lama, sixteen vestal virgins, and our white-haired old grannies. He's a bit protective of you, if you hadn't already realized."  
  


I snorted, picturing Gabe's face when he'd returned to an empty apartment. "Don't take it personally."  
  


Haldir shrugged, winding down from explanation mode. "As soon as he got here, he harassed Galadriel until she swore that Elrond and all the healers were attending to you at that very moment. To tell the truth, I think she found his persistence rather charming."  
  


"Gabe, flirting with Galadriel." I shuddered. "It sends shivers down my spine."  
  


"No, my princeling, that's just the titanium pins. They're holding some rather important vertebrae together."  
  


At that moment, the door to the gym swung open and in wandered one Felix Baker, rocker and former Ringbearer. I stood up. "Good morning, Felix."  
  


He stopped dead and grinned. Then he flew across the floor and embraced me in a manner which was a lot more hobbit than Necropolis street-dweller.  
  


"Reports of your death were greatly exaggerated, huh? Welcome back to the real world." As Felix smiled at me, all dark thoughts of battles, falling, and Nazgul receded from my mind. I was alive, I'd soon be ready to fight, and we had a Fellowship again.  
  


Life was good.  
  


************  
  


Adam made his way along the wide, window-lined corridor. Every so often, an Elf would pass, on their way to their rooms or their offices, or simply wandering without a destination. They would invariably pause and bow to him, a palm laid flat to their hearts. The Gondorian King felt compelled to return the gesture, but his inner cop just felt weird.  
  


Weird. That was the perfect word. It was like seeing the world through an entirely different set of eyes, coupled with memories he didn't remember.  
  


Adam winced. Speaking of weird. Memories he didn't remember. Try understanding *that* without having a few drinks first.  
  


The sunny corridor eventually ended in a set of double doors. He pushed them open.  
  


Inside was a vast gymnasium, recently vacated by four Elves and a former Hobbit. Sunlight filtered through the high windows, settling in bright patches on the hardwood floor. Sparring mats lay piled in the corner. However, Adam's attention was immediately drawn to the person standing in the centre of the room.  
  


Elrond Peredhil. The man who had once been his father and mentor. As the ancient Elf turned to face him, Adam slowly followed that train of thought to its logical conclusion.  
  


//...And then you kept his daughter from following her family to immortality and left her to die. Oh Christ.//  
  


"Estel." Not a greeting, a simple statement of fact. Elrond's face was impassive, but his eyes were cold. He turned away, deliberately, leaving Adam with a deep feeling of dread. This was coupled with a sudden pang of loss; he'd felt respect, even love for the timeless Half-elf who had brought a human foundling into his house. Now, for the first time, he felt stirrings of fear.  
  


Elrond had moved towards a rack on the wall. Leaning forward with the same deliberate motion, he drew two fencing foils. Then he turned towards Adam again. "Come," he said. "We will duel."  
  


Adam saw him then, maybe with the bit of magic Alice had always sworn he possessed. He saw him standing at the horizon of a storm, exuding the calmness of one who knows that soon, the destruction will begin.  
  


Elrond tossed him the foil, and he caught it one-handed. "Do you fence?" he inquired politely, but with a core of coldness to the words. Adam knew the closest he'd ever gotten to sword-fighting was with the judicious use of a breadknife, killing rats in an ex-girlfriend's apartment. But he knew that this answer wouldn't stop Elrond.   
  


And then it was too late to stop, too late to rationalize, as Elrond attacked. The blade whipped in close past his face, cutting through the air with a sharp hiss. Adam dodged backwards, trying to formulate some sort of defence.  
  


The blades weren't tipped.  
  


And Adam knew, at that instant, that Elrond could kill him. He was a bereaved father, having had endless millennia for grief to crystallize into rage.   
  


Adam knew nothing about sword-fighting, but Aragorn did.   
  


It became a dance, a dance of beautiful and terrible grace; Adam's rational mind disengaged, and he felt himself slip into the ebb and flow of ancient instincts. He dodged, parried, and attacked when he saw an opening. Elrond's blade whipped through empty space as Adam leapt backwards, though not out of reach of the old Elf's kick. His foot connected solidly with the cop's midsection, driving him backwards. Adam managed to turn the fall into an awkward flip, barely regaining his balance as Elrond attacked again.  
  


He managed to slip past the Elf's guard, scoring a quick scratch down Elrond's arm. "First blood," said Adam, his tone light, trying to imagine that this was just a friendly match, that he was going to walk out of this room intact.   
  


Then Elrond retaliated, his foil nearly blurring with the speed of his attacks. A hit to the ribs, the shoulder, then a shallow cut across his cheekbone. "Focus, Estel," said Elrond, anger creeping into his tone for the first time. "You're not paying attention."  
  


"Watch me." Adam shot back, regaining the offensive. He began to drive Elrond back, ignoring the sting every time the blade slapped home. The dance regained its grace, with both parties landing blows, blood and sweat beginning to flow more freely. 

And Adam started talking again, not even registering what he was saying. "I loved her, don't you understand that? I *needed* her, I was nothing without her!"  
  


"You killed her, Estel." Rage was seeping into Elrond's voice again; this time, it was unchecked. "She needed *you*, and you left her behind to die."  
  


Adam hissed in pain as point of the foil scratched along his arm, drawing blood as it went. "I didn't want to leave her, don't you see? Death was our curse, and she knew it was coming! She knew! And so did you, you bastard!"  
  


Elrond's voice had dropped to a growl. "I will not lose her again. Not again."  
  


Father and son then descended somewhere primal, where nothing mattered but the rage and the pain. All control, all pretence of civility had dropped away. Now it was just the hiss and clatter of blades, and two minds waiting to strike.  
  


And then their foils caught, the blades running along one another until the pommels clanged together, leaving their faces inches apart, and eye to eye for the first time.   
  


For an instant, Adam could see past the fury in Elrond's eyes, past the anger to the naked and desolate pain beneath. //My daughter, my one and beautiful daughter, the light of my life and the star of my sky, and I couldn't save her, don't you see? I couldn't stop her.//  
  


Adam briefly wondered what Elrond could see in his eyes, and then he heard her scream.  
  


"Stop!"  
  


A spell blew them apart, sending him flying towards the wall. He had a short glimpse of Legolas, upside down, at speed, before a strong hand caught his wrist, giving him a solid anchor. Adam managed to pivot in midair, aborting his flight into the wall and planting his feet solidly on the ground once more.  
  


Across the gym, Elrond had turned his fall into a languid backflip, landing comfortably on his feet. He stared across at the one who'd ended the duel.  
  


Alice strode into the room, power visibly crackling in her wake, her eyes cold and solid blue. Legolas stood behind her, his hair and robe stirring in the breeze of her passage, looking as though he'd really rather be somewhere else. When she spoke, every word seemed to hum and hang on the force of her anger.  
  


"Don't. You did this before. Don't do it again. I love you both more than you can imagine, but don't dare presume that my love can withstand this-" she struggled for words, "-this, *feud*, for a second time. Stop fighting. *Now*."   
  


She left then, walking out of the room with her head high, radiating anger. Adam pitied anyone in her way right now. Angry witches had the tendency wreak havok on anything in their paths.  
  


Legolas quietly collected the foil from Elrond's unresisting hand. He picked up Adam's blade from where it had dropped to the floor. He set them both back on the rack, then he turned and spoke for the first time.   
  


"She's right, you know. You two have to work this out. Otherwise, you're both still hurting her, and I think she's had enough pain in both her lifetimes, don't you?"   
  


He walked towards the door. "I'm going to try to calm her down before she happens to somebody." As he passed Adam, he dropped his voice and nodded, a slight smile on his face. "Hello, Elessar. It's been awhile." And then Legolas was gone.  
  


Adam was left in vast gym, staring across at the ancient Elf that he had loved, respected, resented, and never, ever understood. "I won't hurt her again." he said, but Adam wasn't sure whether he was telling that to Elrond, or to himself. 


	23. Conversations from an Everyday Life

Author's Note: Hey everybody! Apologies for the usual lateness of the chapter, but we are whimpering first year university students whose profs don't take: "But I'm writing a stor-eeee!" as a valid excuse for a late English essay. Curses.  
  


We also entreat you to check out our website for other fun stuff like quotes, bios, our non-fiction work, and some lovely BIA universe snippets by Dru and Jai, "Long December" and "And Departing Leave Behind Us." Look for nice updates there and jack our hit counter.  
  


Also, feel free to sign our pretty guestbook, and use our message board. We don't have a Yahoo group, so this is a great place for you guys to vent and rant and talk to us. We're perfectly willing to discuss plot points, throw out hints, and just sit and chatss a bitssy, my precious. We're posting a BIA related challenge that some of you may be interested in there too. So by all means, scoot over and take a look.  
  


Cheers for RotK and all the cast and crew who won ALL their Oscars! *Nightrunners prance about in a mad little victory dance, chanting "Sweep! Sweep!"*  
  


Oh, for those who will wonder, 'melisse' means a female lover in Elvish and 'meleth-nîn' means my love.   
  


And now we present the chapter. Here it is, in all its dubious glory. Enjoy.   
  
  
  
  
  


Conversations From an Everyday Life

Soundtrack: Força (Nelly Furtado)  


It is the passion flowing right on through your veins  
And it's the feeling that you're oh so glad you came  
It is the moment you remember you're alive  
It is the air you breathe, the element, the fire  
It is that flower that you took the time to smell  
It is the power that you know you got as well  
It is the fear inside that you can overcome  
This is the orchestra, the rhythm and the drum  
  
Com uma forca, com uma forca  
Com uma forca que ninguem pode parar  
Com uma forca, com uma forca  
Com uma fome que ninguem pode matar  
  
It is the soundtrack of your ever-flowing life  
It is the wind beneath your feet that makes you fly  
It is the beautiful game that you choose to play  
When you step out into the world to start your day  
You show your face and take it in and scream and pray  
You're gonna win it for yourself and us today  
It is the gold, the green, the yellow and the grey  
The red and sweat and tears, the love you go. Hey!  
  
Com uma forca, com uma forca  
Com uma forca que ninguem pode parar  
Com uma forca, com uma forca  
Com uma fome que ninguem pode matar  
  
forca, forca, forca, forca, forca  
  
Closer to the sky, closer, way up high, mais perto do ceu, mais perto do ceu  
  
Com uma forca, com uma forca  
Com uma forca que ninguem pode parar  
Com uma forca, com uma forca  
Com uma fome que ninguem pode matar  
  
  
  
  
  


Galadriel heard the outer door of her office slam open. She stood up as Elrond stalked in, flanked by Elladan and Elrohir. Elrond looked pained, and Elrohir and Elladan wore gleeful expressions that were mildly disturbing on elvish faces.

"We've got to get them out of here."  
  


Galadriel suppressed a smile at Elrond's tone. It brought words like 'long-suffering' to mind. "Why, pray tell?" she asked.  
  


Elrohir shrugged. "Well, Legolas is climbing the walls-"  
  


Elrond mumbled something about never treating Thranduil's spawn again, but was polite enough not to repeat it.  
  


Elladan picked up the thread. "-and Gabe's walking around being Dwarvish, on purpose-"   
  


"-and Estel and Arwen are doing that whole I-love-you, I-hate-you, not-talking thing-"  
  


"-and the Hobbits are getting underfoot. Mithrandir's gone off somewhere, so he can't keep them out of trouble."  
  


Then Elrond spoke up. "I believe I made my argument against shipping their instruments over here quite clear. They're 'jamming' somewhere down the hall from my office."  
  


"Hey, don't drag us into this one, Ada-"  
  


"-We like their music."  
  


Galadriel paused, noticing that Elrond was definitely nursing a low-grade migraine. "What do you think? Is it safe to let them outside our protection for an evening?"  
  


"They handled themselves well enough in New York," Elrond said "We can send some backup with them, for safety. But where could they go?"  
  


There was some indiscreet coughing from the Twins. Elrond and Galadriel both glanced over, and Elrohir smiled innocently. "Well, since you asked..."  
  


************  
  


Adam sighed in exasperation as the telephone operator put him on hold for what seemed like the twentieth time.  
  


"Remind me again why I'm the one making this phone call?"  
  


"Because, you're the person who made the last one, Syphilis-boy." Peter snickered. "Besides, Alice asked you to take care of it. She's pissed enough at you already. Do you *really* want to argue with an angsting witch?"  
  


"Not really. Also, knowing her, she'd solve our little problem by sending a spell down the wire and setting fire to the Precinct."  
  


"Well, that idea does have some merit. I mean, how are you planning to explain your current absence from the country?"  
  


"Shut up for a second, I think I'm finally getting through."   
  


Peter could almost see the lines of dialogue scrolling across Adam's mind as he mentally rehearsed how he wanted the conversation to go. He had to give the guy credit; Adam really was a convincing liar when he wanted to be.  
  


"Hi, Brenda."  
  


"Adam! Hi. How's Utah?" 

"What?!"  
  


"Oh, I forgot to tell you the last time we were talking, we sub-let your apartment until February and we're putting Alice's paycheck into your account because she always used to do her banking in person."  
  


"Brenda, what are you talking about?"  
  


"By the way, we've only gotten approval for a year's sabbatical for both of you. *Please* try to be home again by next April. Also, the captain says that if you could find the time amidst your R and R to give us a call every now and then so we know you're still alive, it would be greatly appreciated. Byeeee."  
  


************  
  


Gabe was mentally kicking himself for getting into a poker game with four Elves. Legolas, Rumil, Orophin and Erestor were ranged around the table, their faces set on 'ethereal'.  
  


//At least they're not glowing. That would be irritating.//  
  


Luckily for Gabe, his cell phone rang. Legolas immediately snapped out of the blank serenity and looked curious. "Who'd be calling you here?"  
  


Gabe shrugged. "I don't know. Peter, maybe, if he got lost again."  
  


"But he hasn't left the building, has he?" Rumil looked confused, having missed the Fellowship's grand entrance.  
  


"My point still stands." Gabe flipped the phone open. "Hello?"  
  


"Um...Doctor Gleason?"  
  


Alarm bells began to ring in Gabe's head. "Who is this?"  
  


"Um...it's Dash."  
  


"What? Oh, Dash! Shit!" The Elves looked confused, and Gabe glanced up at them, mouthing 'grad student'. "What is it?" he asked, professorly concern settling into his voice. Then another thought occurred to Gabe. "How the hell did you get this number, anyway?"  
  


"Well, I was down at the student pub, and some weird old guy in a white suit came up to me, and anyway, it doesn't really matter. Doctor Gleason, Gabe, I think I'm gonna be shot if you don't come home right now!"  
  


This last sentence ended in a rather drawn-out wail. Legolas and the other Elves, with their hearing, were looking bemused. Gabe sighed. "Dash, calm down. No one's going to shoot you. Except possibly me." Dash whimpered, and Gabe sighed again. "Kidding, I was just kidding. Now tell me what's wrong."  
  


"The Dean. Going to kill me. Disallow my thesis. Life over."  
  


"Aw, Christ. Okay, here's what you do. Go talk to Kristin, that's Doctor Poduska to you. Tell Rani that you two will be transferring over to her. She'll advise your theses from now on. I'll send her the information, god knows she owes me a favour or eight."  
  


"But, hang on, wait- Gabe, what are you doing? When will you be back?"  
  


"I don't know. I'm sorry about everything, okay? And don't worry about the Dean, I'll take care of that. He'll have my resignation tomorrow morning."  
  


"Gabe!"  
  


"Goodbye, Dash. It'll be okay, I promise." He broke the connection, dropped the cell phone on the table. It clattered in the silent room. Gabe stared at nothing in particular, with a slightly surprised look on his face. He remarked to nobody in particular: "At the tender age of thirty-six, I have just wrecked my academic career."  
  


Legolas came over, laid an arm over his shoulder. There was nothing he could say, but he stayed there for a long time.   
  


************  
  


Alice had been pacing around her room since she'd gotten up that morning. Adam had stopped by at one point, and tried to appease her, but Alice was having none of it. Wanting to brood on her own, she'd sent him off to call someone back in Necropolis, in an attempt to keep Captain Daly from sending out search parties for her missing officers.  
  


A knock on the door pulled Alice out of her funk.  
  


"Adam, did you manage to get through to anyone?"  
  


"Yeah."  
  


Normally, Alice would have left it at that and gone back to pacing, but Adam had such a strange look on his face that she felt compelled to comment.  
  


"Do we still have jobs? Are we being court-martialled ?" She paused to think. "Can they even do that to us? Remind me to ask Gabe..." When Adam failed to respond, she started to get truly worried. "Adam, speak! Has someone died?"  
  


"We're on sabbatical for the year. Somewhere out west, apparently."  
  


"We're what?"  
  


"And your paychecks are being put into my bank account, by the way, so neither of us is in danger of going broke any time soon."  
  


Alice looked at him in disbelief. "They're lying to Internal Affairs? That's going to land them in so much trouble when this comes out."  
  


"I know. Heh." Adam smiled a little ruefully. "Nice to have friends, isn't it?"  
  


Alice still looked gobsmacked. "What were you doing, *sleeping* with Daly?"  
  


"Actually, I was going to ask you the same thing."  
  


That made her laugh, a little. "Jesus. We're seriously up the creek, aren't we?" She spread her arms dramatically and flopped back on her bed. Adam sat down beside her, picking at a spot on the duvet.   
  


"Alice, could I ask you something?"   
  


"You can ask, but it doesn't mean you'll get an answer."  
  


Adam groaned. "Do you have to be this difficult?"  
  


"Is that what you wanted to ask?"  
  


"No. I...well, I wanted to ask..."  
  


"Spit it out, Adam!" She noticed that he was once again tugging compulsively at a lock of his hair. "You're going to go bald if you're not careful, you know."  
  


"What? Oh, that. Um, Alice?"  
  


"*Yes*, Adam?"  
  


"Will you go out somewhere with me tonight?"  
  


Alice was torn between hitting him, or allowing a soppy grin to break free. She ruthlessly squashed both urges. "To do what, exactly?"  
  


"I was thinking possibly dinner, and then maybe we could go dancing." Adam put on his best hopeful puppy face. "Please?"  
  


"You're asking me out on a date."  
  


"No, I'm asking you to come bake cookies with me." He rolled his eyes "Yes, a date. Look, if you don't want to come with me because of what happened earlier, I'm sorry, 'melisse'. I never meant to hurt you. Neither of us did."

"Wait, do you mean 'earlier' as in 'earlier today', or 'earlier' as in...". She saw the look on his face and took pity on him. "I know what you meant. Dancing would be nice. We have a lot of time to make up for."  
  


"Yeah, we do." Adam turned to go, but paused just as he reached the door. "I almost forgot, I found this in one of the gardens and thought you might like it." He reached into his pocket and made a face.  
  


He held out his hand. It was a little golden flower. An elanor. Unfortunately, twenty minutes in Adam's pocket had nearly squashed it beyond recognition.  
  


Alice smirked. "Well, this is poignant."  
  


Adam groaned. "Shit. I used to be so much better at this."  
  


She picked the delicate remains of the flower from his hand. Such a little thing, but a long time ago, she'd sat down on a hill, closed her eyes, and died in a bed of flowers.   
  


He could see the direction that her thoughts were running. "I'm sorry." Simple words, but maybe they were enough.  
  


She shook her head. "We made the choices and we had to live with them. That's something we both need to accept."  
  


"Maybe this time we won't have to make that choice." He stood up. "I'll see you tonight."  
  


Alice watched as the door closed behind him and murmured to the air. "There's always a choice to be made, 'meleth-nîn'. Always."   
  


************  
  


Felix had taken to wandering the endless maze of corridors of Goldenwood Enterprises. He wasn't admitting to anybody that he was attempting to tire himself out, so that perhaps an hour of unbroken sleep wouldn't be out of the question. He was considering heading down to the gym to take out his frustrations on a punching bag when he suddenly stopped.  
  


"You know," he began conversationally, to the empty corridor, "I hate being watched. It makes me feel jumpy, and frankly, I'm getting kind of sick of it."  
  


Galadriel came sedately out of an alcove, and smiled at him. If she'd heard his rebuke, she gave no sign, but inclined her head gracefully. "Hello, Felix. I've been hoping that we would have the opportunity to talk."  
  


"About what?" Felix, being sleep deprived, was wary of everyone.  
  


Galadriel, perhaps sensing this, didn't beat around the bush. "The nightmares you've been having. They've been growing worse, and more frequent, haven't they?"  
  


Felix nodded, not trusting himself to speak.  
  


Galadriel closed her eyes. "It is as I feared," she said, speaking as if to herself. She sighed, and looked up once more to gaze at Felix with those ancient and terrifying eyes. "Your dreams tell of things that may come."

"No." The reply was quiet, but that did nothing to detract from the vehemence. "You know what I saw. Everyone was dead, and everywhere, the snow was red with blood."  
  


"True Seers are rare, I have found, but perhaps because of your rather...unique experiences-"  
  


"No!" Felix interrupted. "Don't tell me I'm a damn Seer, because all I ever see is death."  
  


Galadriel's eyes flashed, and she spoke sharply, "There is a difference between what may come, and what will come. They are possible futures only. Do not discard these warnings lightly, simply because they are upsetting to you, Frodo Baggins."  
  


"Don't call me that," he snapped. "I'm not him. Frodo lived and died thousands of years ago, haunted to the end by a fate which *you* foresaw and did nothing to stop. Seems you can't follow your own advice!"  
  


Galadriel shook her head, but her expression was one of sorrow now, rather than anger. "You speak of things, Ringbearer, that you do not understand. Then, as now, the board was set, and like before, you may not have a choice in what role you play."  
  


"No. I refuse to believe that. I was a pawn in your game before, Lady. And you know what? It really sucked."  
  


He turned back down the corridor, but was stopped by Galadriel's reply. "And how do suppose you will escape it, Frodo Baggins?"  
  


"I told you, stop calling me that. That's not who I am."  
  


"You do not realize how much it dictates your actions, then."  
  


"What do you mean?" Felix asked, chilled by her words.  
  


"Think on it. Why did you save a Necropolis street-child, one who would become your best friend and lover, and coincidentally just happened to be your most loyal friend of a previous life? And your other friends, who are they?" Galadriel smiled sadly. "You must accept that there is a force beyond your control that is shaping your fate."  
  


Felix shook his head violently. "No. I hate fate. I had one once. I wasn't given any say in the matter, in fact. So you'll forgive me if I'm not thrilled with the idea."  
  


He turned and walked away, and repressing a shiver at Galadriel's parting words. "As you wish. It doesn't really matter. Thrilled or not, you will not escape it."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	24. The Ruined Carpet

A/N: Hello everyone. Look, an update. We may also have another timely one sometime later this week. Doesn't make everyone feel all warm and fuzzy inside? 

Cheers, 

The Nightrunners

The Ruined Carpet

Soundtrack: Everybody's Fool ( Evanescence)

perfect by nature  
icons of self-indulgence  
just what we all need  
more lies about a world that  
  
never was and never will be  
have you no shame don't you see me  
you know you've got everybody fooled  
  
look here she comes now  
bow down and stare in wonder  
oh how we love you  
no flaws when you're pretending  
but now I know she  
  
never was and never will be  
you don't know how you've betrayed me  
and somehow you've got everybody fooled  
  
without the mask where will you hide  
can't find yourself lost in your lie  
  
I know the truth now  
I know who you are  
and I don't love you anymore  
  
it never was and never will be  
you're not real and you can't save me  
somehow now you're everybody's fool 

Darryl Stuart was angry.

Someone was probably going to die soon.

He allowed himself a brief flight of imagination, of reaching and grabbing the little snot and choking her until her eyes popped and she gagged and died. In actuality, the tiny brat smiled at him and swung her legs, her hands crossed demurely in her lap.

Too bad she could blast him across the room if he so much as twitched. It was tempting, though.

The Witch Queen had walked into his office, bold freak that she was, and had sat in the chair across from his desk. Two more of the bitches had followed her in, a huge black woman with long braids and a hard-faced old hag with iron-grey hair. They flanked her, dissecting him with their eyes.

Darryl could see the secretary lying on her back behind them in the outer office. Her limbs were slack, her blond hair tangled over her face. There was a red stain slowly creeping across the expensive carpet.

Garrett came through the side door and darted towards them. He was fast, but the old woman picked him up and held him at arm's length without even flinching.

Darryl ignored the choking sounds and fixed his glare on Trish. "What do you want?"

She smiled, but the expression looked completely out of place on her pointed little face. "You haven't kept up you end of the bargain, Mr. Stuart. My lord is getting rather annoyed with your lack of cooperation."

Darryl kept his gaze level, and willed his hands to stay flat on the desktop. "Put my aide down and we'll talk."

Trish nodded, and the hag threw Garrett across the room. He slid down the wall, holding his throat and wheezing.

Darryl put a hand to his chin. "Everything is progressing the way I've planned it. You can tell your lord that I'll get him the Seer, but I'm going to do it my way, not yours."

"Careful, Mister Stuart." Trish's voice was deceptively pleasant. "As long as you remain useful, you remain alive. I could kill you today-" Trish's face flashed with desire at the prospect. "- but my lord most explicitly stated that you were to remain alive. You live by our grace. Remember that."

She stood and smoothed her skirt, and the two Nazgul moved to follow her. She paused at the threshold of the door and smiled sweetly. "Cross us, and your ass is grass." She giggled, and it was an awful sound. "I think this body is starting to rub off on me." Then they left.

Garrett crawled to the chair and pulled himself to his feet. Darryl glared at him. "Get out of here. Call security and get them to clean up that mess. Then get someone in to replace the carpet."

Garrett left. No one in their right mind would spend time with Darryl in his current frame of mind. The heavy oak door swung shut, and Darryl went over to the bar, opened the fridge and poured a glass from the half-empty bottle.

He took a sip, and discovered that his hands were shaking. Impeccably manicured and spotted. Old.

"Fucking Elves can't store their wine." he muttered to the empty room. 


	25. The Seventh Crow

Authors' Note: Here it is, as promised. The chapter is a great deal longer which we figure will make people happy. Just to warn everyone though, the next chapter probably won't be up until sometime in the middle of June. We're having a slight problem getting all three authors and both betas in the same province for a while. Sorry. In the mean time, enjoy the chapter.

P.S: Eirual belatedly realizes that she forgot to put the translation of the Gaelic Eric uses in the authors' note....sorry. "a chailín" means my girl in Gaelic. Once again, I'm so sorry about that. Thank you to Letanica who's review is what clued me into this fact.

The Nightrunners  
  


The Seventh Crow

Soundtrack: Consequence Free (Great Big Sea)  
  


Wouldn't it be great,  
If noone ever got offended?  
Wouldn't it be great,  
To say what's really on your mind?  
  
I've always said,  
All the rules are made for bending.  
And if I let my hair down,  
Would that be such a crime?  
  
I wanna be consequence free!  
I wanna be where nothing needs to matter.  
I wanna be consequence free!  
Just say: Na na na, na na na na na!  
Oh! Na na na, na na na na na!  
  
I could really use,  
To lose my Catholic consience.  
Cause I'm getting sick,  
Of feeling guilty all the time.  
  
I won't abuse it,  
Yeah I've got the best intentions.  
For a little bit of anarchy,  
But not the hurting kind.  
  
I wanna be consequence free!  
I wanna be where nothing needs to matter.  
I wanna be consequence free!  
Just say: Na na na, na na na na na!  
Oh! Na na na, na na na na na!  
  
Oh! I couldn't sleep at all last night,  
Cause I had so much on my mind.  
I'd like to leave it all behind,  
But you know it's not that easy.  
  
Oh! But for just one night,  
Wouldn't it be great,  
If the band just never ended?  
We could stay out late,  
And we would never hear last call.  
  
Wouldn't need to worry about approval or permission.  
We could slip off the edge,  
And never worry about the fall.  
  
I wanna be consequence free!  
I wanna be where nothing means to matter.  
I wanna be consequence free!  
Just say: Na na na, na na na na na!  
Oh! Na na na, na na na na na!  
Oh! Na na na, na na na na na!   


Le Quartier Roi du Soleil was the place to be after the sun went down. Granted, the sun was currently enveloped in the mother of all storms high above the surface, but it was the metaphorical idea that counted.  
  


Mark actually cackled, spinning in a circle, his bass case nearly knocking a hole in the wall. "This place is so much better than the Outer Limits!"  
  


Felix smiled faintly, standing in front of the back room's only mirror. He had a bottle of gel in one hand, and he was carefully spiking his black hair. Peter leaned in front of him, lining his eyes with dark kohl before tossing the pencil to Mark.   
  


Mark moved to take his place at the mirror, pausing only to comment, "Go easy on the eyeliner, Felix. Your dark circles are impressive enough as it is."  
  


"Look, I haven't slept in three days. When the bodies start stacking up in your dreams, we'll see if you handle it any better!" Felix scowled at his reflection, which indeed looked far too haggard.  
  


"Hey, take it easy, you know he didn't mean anything by it," Sam said, pulling him away.  
  


Felix took a deep breath, and he seemed to relax a bit, even managing a genuine smile. "Let's keep the horror-goth look toned down, anyway. We're playing to a higher class of clientele than your normal Necropolis guttercrawler."  
  


"You have no civic pride, do you, Felix?"  
  


"Not a bit. I *like* playing in cities where people don't try to sacrifice animals in the middle of our set."   
  


"I hate goats," said Mark.  
  


Sam shrugged. "Besides, Peter thinks he looks pretty in makeup."  
  


The drummer snorted. "Yeah, like you can really talk."  
  


"True, but I look prettier in it than you do, and since I'm in a relationship and you're not, I'm going to win this argument."   
  


"Felix is your best friend, so sleeping with him doesn't count," Peter pointed out reasonably.  
  


"Hey! I'm right here, you know." Felix looked annoyed.  
  


"Stop whining and finish your hair, Princess Frodo."  
  


"That's Fairy Princess Frodo, thank you very much."  
  


Peter pulled out one of his drumsticks, gave a cue to an imaginary orchestra, and began to sing. "I feel pretty, oh so pretty! I feel pretty and witty and gay-"  
  


Felix interrupted Peter in mid-verse. "Are you really? I never knew! Hey Sam, you've got competition!"  
  


Sam shot a glare at Peter. "He's mine, bitch."  
  


Mark made a desperate attempt to insert some sanity into the conversation. "It was nice of the twins to get us this gig, wasn't it?"  
  


"Mark, they only did this because we were annoying the Elves."  
  


"Hey, the Elves brought our instruments here all by themselves. We didn't ask," Mark said.  
  


"Nice of them, though," Sam acknowledged.  
  


"Heh, they regretted it pretty quick, didn't they?"  
  


Felix rolled his eyes. "Only when we started to rehearse next to Glorfindel's office."  
  


"Not our fault they have sensitive ears. I thought we sounded pretty good."  
  


"How did they get our instruments here, anyway?"  
  


"Galadriel called your landlord," Felix replied.  
  


"Galadriel knows our landlord?"   
  


"We have a landlord?" This came as a shock to Peter.  
  


"How does Galadriel know our landlord?!" Mark paused. "Our landlord has keys to our apartment?"  
  


"Um, yes." Sam sighed. "He owns the building, remember? But he did promise to water the plants while you were gone."  
  


"We have plants?" This was also news to Peter.  
  


"Hey, gentlemen, shut up and get ready. We're on in five."  
  


And so the most excellent and admirable rocker-hobbits bickered and prepped themselves. Green Dragon was about to make its European debut.   
  


**************  
  


It was a good night at Le Septième Corbeau. The normal clientele had arrived in full force: the club hoppers, the young and bored, the European backpackers, and the pack of drunk gay men who'd meant to go next door.  
  


And naturally, no one was complaining about an unexpected live band. Especially one as collectively attractive as Green Dragon.  
  


The spotlight struck the stage, and Felix blinked once, twice, letting his eyes adjust to the glare. Behind him, he heard Peter whisper-count into one of their normal opening numbers, with no-brainer lyrics and a heavy techno beat. Mark and Sam positioned themselves back to back as he moved towards the front of the stage. He saw Alice on the edge of the crowd. She grinned at him and blew him a kiss. Then there was no time to think as Peter launched himself at the drums and there was only sound, only the beat to carry away all higher brain functions.  
  


And then the crowd hit the floor, and everyone was dancing. Felix grinned.   
  


Life didn't get any better than this.  
  


********  
  


A man wove his way through the crowd, arrowing towards the bar where Erin, Barry and Finn were holding court. He had reddish-brown hair pulled back into low ponytail and hazel eyes set in a broad, good-natured face. He was also wearing a tight black t-shirt and had biceps to kill for.  
  


He stopped behind Erin and stood there for a moment. She glanced over her shoulder and found herself eye-to-eye with an intricate horse tattoo, done in black Celtic knotwork. It twined around the man's upper arm, and hey, she knew that horse-  
  


"Eric!"  
  


Eric Ryan grabbed his sister around the waist as she leapt to hug him. "Hey, 'a chailín'! Fancy meeting you here."  
  


Finn swung around and grinned. "Divine Ryan! I thought you were in London."  
  


Eric set his sister down. "I was, but the Elves recalled most of us to Paris. Heard you managed to snag yourself a Fellowship." He sat down next to them, concern etched across his face. "Someone told me Legolas was hurt. Is he okay?"  
  


Barry nodded towards the dance floor. "You'd never know he was comatose three days ago. He and Gabe are over dancing with those girls."  
  


Eric raised an eyebrow. "Isn't he old enough to be every one of their ancestors?"  
  


"Repeat that around the Elf and you'll get an arrow in the eye."  
  


*******  
  


Diana was extremely happy that she'd worn the blue velvet corset tonight. As Rose and Emma shimmied up behind her, she leaned over to yell in her friend's ear. "The drummer is so. Fucking. Hot."  
  


Emma laughed. "Gimme the bass player. Christ, look at the ass on that man."  
  


Rose snorted. "And doesn't he know it, the way he's shaking it." She stared up at the stage. "I'd go for the blond or the singer, but I think they're flirting with each other." She sighed. "Just my luck."  
  


Diana slung an arm over her shoulder. "Cheer up, girlfriend. There's Mister Tall, Blond and Androgynous over there in the leather trench."  
  


"He is so not my type."  
  


********  
  


A few songs into their set, Felix set down his guitar and grabbed the mike from its stand. "Hey everybody! It's great to be here in the White City!"  
  


Half the crowd was either too drunk or too monolingual to understand a word he was saying, but they roared their enthusiasm anyway.  
  


"We're gonna take a quick break, but we'll be back in a few minutes. In the meantime, Peter here is going to make the rounds and flirt with anything female and breathing. Thanks!"  
  


Peter, true to form, was already chatting up the girl in the blue corset who'd been hovering at the edge of the stage. Felix ducked out the door backstage, to get a breath of fresh air before they had to play again. He grabbed his water bottle-  
  


-and froze mid-swig and stared, goggle-eyed at the three Elves perched on the fire escape, sharing a cigarette.  
  


Sam, who had followed him out, recovered first. "That'll kill you, you know."  
  


The first Elf shrugged. "No, it won't."  
  


Sam looked nonplussed. "Okay."  
  


The second Elf made a grab for the cigarette, letting loose with a stream of Quenya; the third answered in the same language and tossed a pointed glance at the empty package and the pile of butts at their feet. The first Elf passed the smoldering cigarette back, grinning at Sam and Felix. "Sorry about those two. They're not fit for mixed company, on account of the fact that their English sucks." He paused. "And their French, too. Galadriel's only letting those capable of human interaction into the club."  
  


The other two Elves, hoarding the cigarette like it was the last smoke on earth, grinned sheepishly. The first rolled his eyes. "There's less of us than you think." Then he laughed. "We can hear your music out here. Do you know any Clapton?"  
  


"Who?"  
  


***********   
  


There was a hurried hobbit-conversation, a few experimental chords, and then Felix stepped up to the mike. "This one's for the guys out back. Here's to hoping that their cigarette lasts." Green Dragon then launched into the one and only Eric Clapton song in their repertoire.  
  


At the bar, Erin's eyes widened. "Layla! They're playing Layla!"  
  


"Christ, where'd they dig that up- hey!" Finn was cut off as Erin hauled him to his feet and kissed him.  
  


"I don't care. Come and dance with me!"  
  


Finn blinked. "Okay." And then Erin was dragging him bodily into the mass of dancers.  
  


Barry shook his head. "Kids these days." His expression became serious as he turned to face Eric. "So spill. I know you didn't come all the way to Paris to check out the new band at the Septième Corbeau."  
  


Eric leaned forward. "The Elves wanted their agents closer to home, but I had my own reasons for coming back." His expression darkened. "We've picked up a few disturbing reports with regards to White City Enterprises."  
  


"Anything solid?"  
  


Eric shook his head. "Scuttlebutt. Rumours. Nothing substantial. Some under the table deals and a few shadowy murders. We've got a couple of underground contacts who insist there's a big takeover coming up, and that Darryl Stuart is heavily involved."  
  


Barry frowned. "I haven't heard anything like that, and Dad usually keeps me up to date. But he's been playing close to the vest lately. I don't know. Something's making him paranoid."  
  


"Even more so than usual?"  
  


Barry winced. "Touché. Felix and Sam had a run-in with Dad and Garrett, but they got out okay. Dad was slagging off about the Elves, but what else is new? However, he had a bottle of Lake that Felix is positive came out of Legolas's apartment in Necropolis."  
  


"What sort of connection does White City Enterprises have with New York?"  
  


Barry shrugged. "We don't even have a branch there; the closest one is in Chicago. No nice above-board reason for a Mirkwood prince's private stock to have crossed the pond." He leaned towards the other man. "Dad must have had agents in New York looking for Legolas and the others. He couldn't have known Adam was there. Hell, Finn and I didn't know where he was." Barry rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Trying to think like a megalomaniac gives me a headache. What do you think's going on?"  
  


Eric sipped his drink, looking thoughtful. "The Elves really don't see Darryl Stuart as a threat. Well, their companies are in direct financial competition, but Galadriel and Elrond don't see past that. I think it's a blind spot from the old days, when your father was a bit more honourable than he is now."  
  


"Say it like it is, Eric." Barry's voice was level. "He'd probably be declared sociopathic if I could get a decent shrink anywhere in his vicinity."  
  


"You said it, not me. It occurs to me that your childhood couldn't have been much fun."  
  


"Well, Finn, Adam and I always watched out for each other, and we could avoid Dad most of the time. Christ, if Adam hadn't gotten out when he did, he'd probably have met with an accident."  
  


"You think?"  
  


"I know my father."  
  


Eric leaned forward. "I think Darryl's thrown in his lot with Sauron. That would explain the rumours about the takeover."  
  


"Have you reported this to the Elves?"  
  


Eric shook his head. "Not yet. They won't take any action, though, even if I did. I've got nothing that will hold up in court. Besides, what could we have him charged with? Last time I checked, selling your soul to the devil wasn't a crime you could prosecute."  
  


Barry snorted. "Is there any way to connect him to your mysterious murders?"  
  


"No. Nothing solid, anyway. Darryl and his operatives know how to cover their tracks. I'm more worried about your dad acting on orders he might be getting from his new boss in regards to our friends." He shrugged. " I'm reporting to Galadriel and Celeborn tomorrow morning. You'd better come along. They'll probably need to send you in to get some information out of your father."  
  


"The 'dutiful son' part is getting harder to play, you know."  
  


"I know. If we're lucky, it won't be for much longer."  
  


"Then here's to hoping we take down Sauron quickly." Barry raised his glass and Eric returned the gesture, both downing the expensive bourbon.  
  


Eric glanced out onto the dance floor. A couple floated past his line of vision and he grinned. "Hello, what's this?"  
  


Barry leaned back and sighed. "Oh, thank god, *finally*!"  
  


************

"Have I told you that you look beautiful tonight ?"  
  


"Yes, but it never hurts to be told more than once."  
  


"Well, I figured I couldn't go wrong with telling the truth."   
  


Alice did look beautiful. She had let her hair down, and was wearing a light green gauzy dress.  
  


"What's that around your throat?"  
  


"A beryl. My mother gave it to me, she said it was fitting that I wear an elf-stone again."  
  


"It's pretty." Adam turned to face her, offering his hand. "Would you care to dance, my Lady?"  
  


"Certainly, my Lord." Alice bent to give Adam a mocking curtsey, but he reached out to stop her.  
  


"There was never a need for that before, love. Don't start now."  
  


Several pairs of eyes followed the couple as they drifted onto the dance floor. Alice sighed as Adam put his arms around her and started spinning them in slow circles.  
  


"This is nice."  
  


"What?"  
  


"This. I mean, us. Dancing and actually having fun for once."  
  


"Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Alice? You're never this verbose, especially about happiness, or the softer range of human emotions."  
  


"So I don't like to open up much. It's not like I'm antisocial or anything."  
  


"No, but you communicate how you feel about as well as an oyster does," Adam said, then grinned. "Unless it's anger, of course. You're good at that."  
  


"And your problem with this is?"  
  


"Look, Alice, I'm not trying to make you mad. It's just...I want you to talk to me. It makes me feel helpful." He smiled again. "Plus, while you're talking to me, you're not beating me off walls or destroying somebody's apartment."  
  


"You're not going to let me forget that any time soon, are you?" Her tone became rueful.   
  


"Nope. Well, I might, if you choose to spill your guts, metaphorically speaking. I know Arwen, but Alice is a little more reclusive."  
  


"There really isn't much to tell."  
  


"Somehow I don't believe that. Tell me something about Alice Starr. Something that I don't already know."  
  


He spun her quickly and she gasped, once, before gripping his shoulders tightly.  
  


"Fine. I grew up in a Great Society orphanage and I hated it. I also went through the GS school system, at least until I was old enough to leave. In some ways, I was a lucky one. I got out early."  
  


"This story sounds like it's going to continue with 'I got out early because I burned down the school.' Am I right?"  
  


" I wish. No, I left school early because they discovered I was a witch. My best friend was attacked by a chimaera one day, and I fried its scaly black ass with a lightning bolt."  
  


"Quite the illustrious start to your magical career."  
  


"Not really. I killed it, but it didn't stop her from bleeding to death on the sidewalk. Then some government people came along and told me I was being moved to a special camp for witches." She winced. "Later, I found out that the orphanage had requested my transfer. I was manifesting power at a dangerous level and they thought I was a threat. So they put me in the camps."   
  


Her tone was flip, but her fingers tightened on his shoulders.  
  


"I'm sorry," he said quietly.  
  


"Why? You had nothing to do with it. Besides, the camp may have been hell on earth, but I learned how to spellcast without killing myself. Most witches aren't so lucky. About a third of all magic users kill themselves within a year of gaining their powers. They don't learn how to control it, you see? If I've done nothing else with my life, I haven't become a statistic."  
  


"A fact for which I am very grateful."  
  


The song finished. As the hobbits launched into something fast-paced and thrashy, couples began to move off the floor.  
  


"Come upstairs with me?" Adam asked.  
  


"It's not *that* kind of club, you know. Besides, I don't do that sort of thing on the first date."  
  


"I meant come up to the balcony with me." He grinned at her.  
  


"Very well. But only since you asked so very nicely, meleth-nîn."  
  


There was a catwalk overlooking the dance floor, with a few tables placed in shadowy corners. Alice lolled against the rail, looking down as Adam went to get drinks. A hand on her hip drew Alice away from her reverie.  
  


"Is wine all right?"  
  


"I'm normally a vodka girl, but wine is fine, thanks."  
  


Adam handed her a glass and leaned against the rail, facing her.  
  


"Penny for your thoughts?"  
  


"I was thinking about all the people down there." Alice sighed. "Everyone is looking for someone to spend forever with, but there's no proof that forever can exist."   
  


"I don't know about that. Close your eyes," said Adam, taking her wine glass and placing it on a nearby table.  
  


"Why?"  
  


"Just trust me."  
  


"As you wish."  
  


With her eyes closed, Alice found that everything else in the club became much louder. She could hear the sounds of bodies shuffling down on the floor, Felix singing and the buzz of conversation punctuated by laughter. Then Adam's warm hands were on hers, pressing something cold and sharp into her palm.  
  


She looked down to find a star caught between her fingers, intricate filigree digging into her skin.

"Forever exists, if you know where to look."  
  


It was beautiful, threads of woven silver and a white stone that drew all the light towards it. It was ancient and wonderful, and god, how she'd missed it.  
  


It was the Evenstar, bright and perfect, and it was sitting in her hand.  
  


For a moment, she couldn't speak. "Where-?"  
  


"Mark and Peter found it and gave it to me."  
  


"Thank you." She smiled up at him, and the rest of the world faded to white noise.

************  
  


Down on the stage, Mark looked out over the crowd and up to the catwalk. Later, he decided it was a good thing that he didn't sing, because it would have been hard with his jaw halfway to the floor. Then he grinned. Who would have known that Adam and Alice had it in them?   
  


//Well,// thought Mark, //Who wants a quiet life, anyway?//   
  
  
  



	26. Pillow Talk

Authors' Note: Hello all. We know this chapter is short, but the next one should be up within a week or so. Also, updates on the website will be behind as our web-mistress is rather busy at the moment. Enjoy.

The Nightrunners

Pillow Talk

Head Over Feet ( Alanis Morissette)

I had no choice but to hear you  
You stated your case time and again  
I thought about it  
  
You treat me like I'm a princess  
I'm not used to liking that  
You ask how my day was  
  
You've already won me over in spite of me  
And don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet  
Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are  
I couldn't help it  
It's all your fault  
  
Your love is thick and it swallowed me whole  
You're so much braver than I gave you credit for  
That's not lip service  
  
You've already won me over in spite of me  
And don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet  
Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are  
I couldn't help it  
It's all your fault  
  
You are the bearer of unconditional things  
You held your breath and the door for me  
Thanks for your patience  
  
You're the best listener that I've ever met  
You're my best friend  
Best friend with benefits  
What took me so long  
  
I've never felt this healthy before  
I've never wanted something rational  
I am aware now  
I am aware now  
  
You've already won me over in spite of me  
And don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet  
Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are  
I couldn't help it  
It's all your fault

Adam woke to an empty bed. There was, to his mind, something wrong with that picture. He could still see the impression in the mattress next to him, and there was a pair of blue lace underwear on his night stand, which meant the former occupant of the bed certainly hadn't gone far. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Alice?"

Muffled noises came from the bathroom. Adam rolled out of bed and padded over to the door. "I couldn't quite make that out, love. What did you say?"

"Mmpfhut! I said, I borrowed your toothbrush."

"Ah. Gotcha. "

Adam decided to go back to bed. From the small-apartment experience in the Quartier Notre-Dame, he knew that Alice was rather territorial about the bathroom. A few minutes later she came out, wearing what was obviously his bathrobe.

"Is there a reason you keep taking my clothing?"

"Well, there wasn't much else I could put on, was there?" She looked down, toying with the belt and shrugged. "Besides, I like this robe. It's soft, and it smells like you."

"Would you like to keep it? Since you seem to like it so much."

"Now what would be the point in that? I wouldn't have anything to steal from you then."

Adam had to laugh at that. "My partner, the closet klepto. Come back to bed, would you? I'm starting to get lonely."

"Poor boy."

Adam smiled down at the woman curled up at his side, head resting on his shoulder. It was amazing how right this felt to him. It was like he'd been missing a limb, and hadn't realized until it had been reattached. His thoughts would have probably continued along those lines, leaving him mired in a sugar-sweet daze, if his charming companion hadn't given him a jab to the ribs.

"What was that for?"

"You were lying there grinning like an idiot. It was kind of disturbing. What were you thinking about?"

"You. So, any idiocy on my part is entirely your fault."

"I guess I can deal with disturbing, in that case."

"What a martyr."

She frowned up at him. "No, martyrdom will come when my father finds out. He's going to kill us."

"Nah, just me. It was worth it though." He ran a hand over the Evenstar hanging around her neck. "At least this time you'll have something to remember me by."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Adam realized that it had been the wrong thing to say. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm not going to leave you again. I prom-"

"Don't make me a promise you can't keep, Elessar. For all we know, one of us could be dead by tomorrow."

He opened his mouth again, but Alice held a finger up to his lips. "Adam. Do you really want to go there today?"

Adam appeared to think about this for about two seconds before ultimately deciding that, no, he did not, in fact, want to go there today.

Then Alice made a gallant attempt to change the subject. "Where did you say you found my necklace again?"

"Mark and Peter found it."

"It kind of makes you wonder what else belonging to us is floating around."

"Oh, yes. I can see it now. Loads of museum curators being driven nuts as they try to create a picture of the knight who used Anduril, wearing Theoden's armour and carrying Boromir's shield."

"That would certainly make for a well-armed knight."

"Yes, but chances are that stuff's been rust for years. Pity, I rather liked that sword."

"I know you did, dear." Alice stretched, nearly smacking Adam in the face. "Y'know, we should probably think about getting out of bed. It's nearly lunch time."

"If you really want to." He leered at her. "Of course, we could always have desserts and other activities first."

This earned him a smack. "Not now." Alice paused, clearly meaning to continue, but instead, a puzzled look came over her face. "Do you hear screaming?"


	27. Worlds Colliding

Authors' Note: Here it is, the newest chapter. Also, there are Brothers In Arms centric short stories posted on our web-site, for those who are interested.

The Nightrunners

Worlds Colliding

Soundtrack: Beautiful Goodbye ( Amanda Marshall )

Fed up with my destiny  
And this place of no return  
Think I'll take another day  
And slowly watch it burn  
It doesn't really matter how the time goes by  
Cause I still remember you and I  
And that beautiful goodbye We staggered through these empty streets  
Laughing arm in arm  
The night had made a mess of me  
Your confession kept me warm  
And I don't really miss you  
I just need to know  
Do you ever think of you and I  
And that beautiful goodbye When I see you now  
I wonder how  
I could've watched you walk away  
If I let you down  
Please forgive me now  
For that beautiful goodbye In these days of no regrets  
I'll keep mine to myself  
And all the things we never said  
I can say for someone else  
Cause nothing lasts forever  
But we always try  
And I just can't help but wonder why  
We let it pass us by When I see you now  
I wonder how  
I could have watched you walk away  
If I let you down  
Please forgive me now  
For that beautiful goodbye 

As comments went, it was innocent enough. But wars have been started for less.

"You're still having nightmares. You didn't tell me." Sam's tone was accusing. He sat in a chair beside the bed, arms folded across his chest, a picture of obstinacy.

Felix sat up in bed, residual panic fleeing as he realized that he was in their Goldenwood apartment and no longer in his own personal hell. The sheets had bunched and twisted around him, and he felt as if he'd gone three rounds with a cave-troll.

He scrubbed his hand across tired eyes, and sighed in Sam's direction. "What are you doing awake, anyway?"

"It's morning, Felix," Sam said. "I tried to wake you when you were thrashing around earlier, but you stopped after a bit so I left you alone, and I kind of hoped you actually got some proper sleep. I guess that was too much to hope for."

Something about his tone grated on Felix's already shredding nerves. "Oh, why do you care?" he snapped. "You could have gone somewhere else to sleep."

Sam's eyes flashed, and he snapped right back, "That's not what I meant, and you know it!"

"But why did you sit in the god-damned chair for half the night, Sam? Why didn't you just go away?" Felix was too tired, and frankly, too pissed off to care about his words.

Sam was out of the chair in a second, so fast that it overbalanced and crashed to the floor. "Because I belong here, you idiot!" he yelled.

"Why? What did I ever do to deserve this from you, Sam? What did I do?"

Sam's features softened, and he took a step towards the bed. "Everything," he said quietly. "You did everything."

Something in Felix snapped, very suddenly. "I rescued a scared kid, Sam, someone just like me." He jumped from the bed, and began to pace. "How much of us, how much of this," he gestured to Sam, "is based on what came before?"

Sam's voice stopped him there, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. "What do you mean?" he asked, his tone icy.

Felix shook his head. "What is it between you and I, anyway, Sam? Why did you sit in a damn chair all night to watch over me? Is it some kind of twisted loyalty thing, left over from thousands of years ago?"

Sam's glacial attitude hadn't shifted. "So now you're questioning me too. You've been jumping at shadows lately, but I don't know what could have ever made you doubt me."

"I'm just wondering, Sam, who is it you love, anyway? A street kid who's scared of the dark or a dead Ringbearer who lost his soul to a dark lord's trinket-"

Felix was almost rambling at that point, his eyes darting around the room, but he saw the punch coming at the last second. It was just as well, if he hadn't twisted out of the way, it probably would have broken his nose. As it was, the blow sent him tumbling backwards over the bed.

As he shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears, Sam towered over him, almost shaking with rage. Roughly, he hauled Felix to his feet, and pulled him close. "How dare you!" he hissed. "How dare you question me, now, after all of this? After everything we've done together, everything that's happened, you decide that I'm not in love with you, but some reflection of a dead...!"

Furious now to the point of incoherence, he threw himself into another punch, but this time Felix was ready for him, and sidestepping the blow, caught Sam in the back of the neck with the heel of his hand.

Sam went down with a grunt, and Felix was on him in a second. He caught Sam with a sharp jab to the stomach, then one to the face, and he was almost screaming, "You've got no idea what it's like! Every night I see you die, everyone dies and I can't stop it! You don't understand!"

With a tremendous heave, Sam pushed Felix off of him, and staggered to his feet. "No!" he yelled. "You're right, I don't understand! I can never understand because you won't fucking me tell!"

With that, he turned and stormed from the apartment. The door rattled on its hinges as it slammed shut.

"You stupid bastard," Felix muttered, surveying the wrecked room. He closed his eyes, and sank back to the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest.

He was still sitting there, moments later, when the door was cautiously opened. "Fuck off, Mark," Felix said flatly.

000000000000000

I heard the yelling, but that was no surprise. Every Elf within ten stories would have heard them. Felix and Sam, fighting. Loudly.

Part of me wanted to just stay out of their business, but I'd been out of the loop for too long now. I went downstairs just in time to see Sam clip by, eyes dark and angry, the heel of his hand pressed to a bruising cheekbone.

Peter was coming down the stairs at the other end of the hall. "Fuck, not this again," I heard him say, then he was sprinting after his friend. "Sam, come back!"

Mark had been a few steps behind Peter. I watched as he went into the room that Felix and Sam shared, but he emerged again a minute later, looking frustrated. I stepped out into the open, into his line of sight. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

"Hey Legolas." Mark was scuffing his toes against the floor, an obvious diversionary tactic. It wasn't going to work on me.

"Mark, what's wrong? You might as well talk about it, because I just saw Sam go by. What's going on between those two?"

Mark groaned. "They were fighting again. I hate it when they fight. They just let stuff go for so long, and all these little things build up, and then someone says something stupid, and suddenly there's screaming and punching and one or both of them end up in the hospital. The last time, Peter and I ended up sitting with Felix in a fucking Flight clinic for thirteen hours, because we didn't have enough cash to take him to the hospital."

Mark must have seen the look on my face, because he continued, fiercely, defensively. "They're my best friends, and they love each other so goddamn much. They just...can't deal, all right?"

"No, Mark, it's not all right. Felix just hit Sam."

Mark looked unfazed. "Sam hit him back. Or hit him first, whatever. This is old news, Legolas. They were like this when I met them, and I figure they'll still be like it long after I'm dead in the streets. They're just... it's just the way they are, okay? It's not like they fight every week. The last time- when we took Felix to the Flight clinic- that was a couple of years ago."

Something ugly was beginning to dawn on me. "How long have they been together?"

"Felix said he met Sam when he was ten. Sam was seven."

"And how long have they been lovers?"

"I don't know."

This was worse than I thought. "Have they ever been with anybody else?"

"No."

"Mark, has it ever occurred to you, or to them, for that matter, that this relationship might be less than healthy?"

Mark's eyes flared. "Oh, fuck you. We grew up in the streets. Peter's mom was a junkie, she ran off when he was eleven, and god only knows who his father was. Felix's parents are dead, Sam doesn't even know who his parents were, and my mom is dead. There's nobody, nobody who cares whether you live or die, and that fucks with your head, y'know? You have to grow up when you're eight years old, and you never know if you're going to die tomorrow, or if your best friend won't come home tonight. All you know how to do is love or hate. Everything is in extremes, and everything hurts."

I watched as he ground the heel of his hand into his forehead. "Christ." he said. " I'll kill them both."

There really wasn't anything I could say. Mark kept talking, like something had broken inside him. "Do you know what it's like when they fight? They won't talk to anyone for ages, and when they do, Sam will call Felix every filthy thing he knows, and Felix will publicly wish Sam had never been born. Then three days later, they'll both go crazy, because they honestly can't live without each other, but they'll be stupid about it and drag it out another two weeks because they're both complete idiots."

Mark lost some of his fire, then. He leaned against the wall, slid down to sit on the floor, and ran a hand over his face. I sat down next to him, and he dropped his head against my shoulder. "They're in love, Legolas. They're the only people I know who have ever really been in love."

000000000000000000

"Slow down, you bastard!"

Sam didn't spare a glance behind him as he plowed towards the nearest exit of Goldenwood- in this case, a disused fire escape. He shoved the door open, jumping down onto the thin metal staircase, which protested with a screech. Peter followed him down more cautiously, and hit the ground running to catch up.

He finally grabbed Sam's shoulder as they made their way onto a crowded pedway. "Shit, man, what's your problem now?"

Sam glared at him. "Fuck off, Peter."

Peter shook his head and tightened his grip. "You know, you can be frighteningly immature sometimes, the both of you."

"It's not your problem." He reached up, attempting to pry Peter's fingers from his shoulder.

"Screw that, Sam. You and Felix are my best friends. And when you both go off the deep end, beat each other up, and then you storm off without a word, what the hell do you expect me to do?"

Sam stopped then, and Peter felt some of the tension dissolve under his fingers. "You'll think it's stupid," he said, reaching up to probe the bruise forming on his cheekbone.

"Try me."

Sam, uncharacteristically, hesitated. "Felix said I didn't love him," he said finally, then laughed helplessly at Peter's raised eyebrows. "Well, okay, he didn't say it, but it's what he meant." He laughed again, and Peter didn't like the way Sam seemed to be edging towards hysteria.

"What the hell brought that one on?" Peter asked. "Twelve hours ago you were in 'protective' mode."

Sam shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "He said some stuff about me confusing him with Frodo and our entire relationship being something about my warped sense of loyalty-"

"That's pretty twisted, even from Felix."

"Oh, it gets better." Sam had apparently passed through post-fight hysteria and on into self-deprecation. "I said something about him doubting me, and then he went back into the 'who is it you love anyway' bullshit, at which point I stopped listening because I hit him."

Peter sighed. "Are you done venting?"

Sam shook his head. "Christ, I'm such a girl. I have a fight with my boyfriend and I run crying to you."

"Nah, don't worry about it. I had to run after you before you could cry." He frowned however, and he said, "Seriously, though, it sounds like Felix has something major on his mind. You've got to sit down and talk about it. Preferably without either one of you throwing a punch."

Sam managed a weak grin. "Remember the last time we had a fight like this?"

Peter groaned. "Oh god, how could I forget? You broke his jaw, and Felix can't sing with his jaw wired shut. We lost six gigs because Mark was singing. Mark can't sing."

"It made my ears bleed, as I recall," Sam said.

"Not to mention that you felt guilty about it for weeks afterward, until Felix threatened to break your jaw unless you let it go."

"Yeah, that too."

Peter caught his wrist and gave it a tug. "Come on, let's go back. It's probably not safe out here. You don't have to talk to him right now, but it will just get worse if you don't."

"You're right, I suppose."

"Hey," Peter said anxiously, stopping him in his tracks. "He loves you, you know. Whatever he says. He's just having a really bad month."

Sam sighed. "Aren't we all." And then- "Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For everything."

"Yup, that's me. Peter Taylor, relationship counsellor extraordinaire. That's what I'm here for, man. Come on, we shouldn't be out here alone. The Elves are gonna freak."

Sam nodded. They hadn't gone twenty paces when Peter stopped dead.

"What's wrong?" Sam looked around. While they had been talking, the pedway had become deserted and was now eerily silent.

Peter's eyes widened as he took in the gang of mages advancing on them. He turned his head sharply, but there was no relief to be found. More mages were coming up behind them, and there was nothing on either side but a ten metre drop into traffic.

Ducking the first of the barrage of spells, Sam reached for his knife, remarking, almost casually, "I'd say our month is about to get even worse."

0000000000000000000000000000

Felix was making an attempt to tidy the apartment. He had to do something to keep himself from going mad, after all. He was reaching down to right an overturned chair when the vision hit him and sent him staggering.

Sam and Peter were running, but there was no escape, they were ringed on all sides. Peter's lips were pulled back in a snarl as he threw one of his knives, and a mage went down with shriek.

They split, running through the increasingly smaller circle, presenting two moving targets for the spells the mages were throwing. Sam dropped into a crouch, and a fireball flew over his head and caught a mage on the other side of the circle. He was engulfed immediately in magical flames, and thrashed about, catching his two neighbours ablaze.

But there were too many mages, too many spells to avoid. While turning to avoid a noxious black cloud, a lightning bolt caught Sam in the back. His eyes widened, and he was immobilized by thousands of tiny bolts flickering across his body. He began to scream, but the sound abruptly cut out as he slumped to the ground, body twitching uncontrollably.

Peter was at his side in a moment, teeth bared and screaming wordless defiance.

The crowd converged and Peter disappeared under a crush of mages with glowing eyes.

000000000000000000000000

Mark heard the crash, and leapt to his feet. "What the hell?" He ran into the apartment. "Felix?"

Mark's scream brought every elf in the building running.


	28. Answers, the Great Beyond and Other Lies

A/N: We're deeply sorry this has taken so long to post. Yes, we know it's been over four months with nothing. Again, we're sorry. However, please don't expect another update any time soon. We haven't forgotten, we haven't given up, but we don't have time to write the way we used to. In the mean time, please enjoy.

The Nightrunners

A/N 2: For some reason the breaks to indicate scene shifts are not showing up. Sorry about this. We're trying to fix it, but we haven't had much luck so far.

Answers, the Great Beyond and Other Lies

Soundtrack: Saint Simon ( The Shines)

After all these implements and text designed by intellects  
So vexed to find evidently there's just so much that hides  
And though the saints of us divine in ancient feeding lines  
Their sentiment is just as hard to pluck from the vine

I'm trying hard not to pretend  
Allow myself no mock defense  
Step into the night

Since I dont have the time nor mind to figure out  
The nursery rhymes that helped us out and make a sense of our lives  
The cruel uneventful state of apathy releases me  
I value them but I won't cry if the time was wiped out

I'm trying hard not to give in  
Battened down to fair the wind  
Read my head, at least pretend  
Allow myself no mock defense  
Step into the night...

Mercy's eyes are blue  
When she places them in front of you  
Nothing holds a roman candle to  
The solemn warmth you feel inside

There's no measuring of it  
As nothing else is love

I'll try hard not to give in  
Battened down to fair the wind  
Read my head, at least pretend  
Allow myslef no mock defense  
Step into the night...

Mercy's eyes are blue  
When she places them in front of you  
Nothing really holds a candle to  
The solemn warmth you feel inside of you

There was mass confusion, with Elves converging from all directions. I saw Barry charge down a flight of stairs with his gun hastily shoved into the waistband of his jeans, and I politely averted my eyes as Alice dropped down from the level above dressed only in a oversized rugby jersey. Adam followed behind Barry, shirtless and barefoot.

Even within the chaos, I saw Barry take a moment to smirk. "Nice shirt, Alice."

For a moment, it looked as though the witch might hit him. But she smiled and demurely folded her arms across her chest. "Thank you."

The crowd calmed as Galadriel strode down the hall. She glanced quickly through the door to Felix and Sam's rooms, then leaned back. "Legolas, come here and help me."

I followed her inside. The main room was slightly the worse for wear from the earlier fight. Mark was crouched on the floor beside Felix, who wasn't moving.

He looked up at us, eyes wide. "I came in and he was having some kind of seizure. Then he just stopped and he won't wake up!" Mark grabbed my arm. "I don't know what's wrong with him!"

I supported him as he took a few deep breaths. Then Galadriel moved past us and knelt on the carpet next to Felix. She covered his eyes with her hands and whispered a quiet Elven spell.

I looked out into the hall, where people were still milling around, and I narrowed my eyes. "Have Sam and Peter come back yet?" Mark's head shot up, his eyes wide again.

Then Galadriel sat back hard on her heels, shaking her head. 

"Damn," she said quietly.

When Felix woke up, the shouting began in earnest.

He and Mark were doing most of it, assisted somewhat by Adam and Alice. We had adjourned to one of the nearby courtyards, and I could see that human and Elvish tempers were beginning to fray. Felix and Mark, flanked by the two cops, were yelling at Galadriel and Elrond. Erin, Finn, Barry and Eric Ryan were grouped together just to the side, conversing angrily amongst themselves. Glorfindel was looking pained, the Twins were looking upset, and I really didn't like the direction this was going. I turned and said as much to Gabe, who was leaning against the stone wall next to me.

He shook his head. "Neither do I, Elf. But either way, it looks like we're finally going to get some straight answers."

Galadriel then decided that she'd had enough. "Would everyone please stop?" Her voice washed over the room, the power behind the words, and the inherent threat was even enough to stop Mark and Felix in their tracks. They sat down, scowling.

"Thank you," said Galadriel in more normal tones. "We will accomplish nothing by fighting amongst ourselves. Now, Felix. Please tell everyone what you saw."

Felix sighed. "It was like the dreams I've been having, only it was-" he bit his lip. "I don't know. More immediacy, more like it was something happening just out of sight. I saw-" and his voice started to shake, just a little. Mark grabbed his shoulder and held on.

"Sam and Peter were on a pedway, and there were mages everywhere. They were fighting, but there were too many. Sam got hit, and then Peter tried to stop them, but they just-"

Felix stopped. No one said anything, so he continued in a voice that was getting steadier. "Then the mages dragged them both away and jumped off the pedway down into traffic. There was a black van down there, and they threw them in the back. That's all I saw."

"Were there any distinctive markings on the van or the mages?" asked Adam. "Anything that you'd be able to identify?"

Felix stopped, and I could see him mentally going through the entire encounter again. He'd been relatively calm through this entire exchange, and I was beginning to wonder if he was in shock. "No. Nothing. All the mages were wearing black, and-" he stopped. "And they were all really normal-looking, and that's so weird for mages-"

"-like someone didn't want to be traced." finished Alice grimly. She turned towards Elrond and Galadriel. "Do we have any idea who might have taken them?"

It was Finn who spoke up. "White City Enterprises."

Elrond turned towards him. "Do you have any solid evidence?"

He shook his head. "Only what Eric brought back."

" Which was nothing"

"We can't chase our missing Hobbits across the city on the strength of assumptions and guesswork," said Galadriel. "Our intelligence network is combing the city as we speak, but it may be some time before we dredge up any valuable information."

"Unfortunately," I said, straightening, "that's time Sam and Peter may not have. We need to find out who took them and why they want them."

"I know why they took them." Felix's voice was so quiet that I barely heard him. He was resting his forehead on his hand. When he looked up his face was bleak.

"The seer." he said. "They wanted the seer."

"I think this would be a good time to give Galadriel and Elrond your report," Barry told Eric after the group had broken up. The senior Elves had left to coordinate fact-finding operations, the remaining hobbits, Gabe, and Legolas trailing behind.

"What report?" Adam asked sharply.

Eric shook his head. "Just some information we've been picking up in London," he said, grimacing. "Inconclusive. A lot of assumptions." He spoke as if every word hurt.

"All the same, go talk to them. We're running out of time and options."

"...and we first became suspicious after the death of Calvin Nakashima, a top advisor to the Board of Executives of SummerTech, one of White City's direct competitors in London."

Eric stood in front of an assembled group of high-ranking Elves, as well as several Ithillien Intelligence agents, and the fellowship. He paused, and Celeborn held up one hand.

"What were the circumstances of his death, precisely?"

"That was the strange thing. It was a flight overdose. But from our information, Nakashima wasn't a substance abuser and the timing of his death also provides suggests White City's involvement. White City and SummerTech were in negotiations for White City to buy it out."

"Let me guess," Adam interjected, "Negotiations were not going well for White City?"

"The business section of any major newspaper would have told you that." Eric shook his head. "This was about three weeks ago. White City was actually publically considering pulling out of the talks, and SummerTech drives a hard bargain. Then came Nakashima's 'drug overdose'. "

"Still," Elrond pointed out, "This could all be coincidental."

"That's what we thought too," Eric admitted. "At the time. But we watch White City very closely, and within the space of the week there were two more deaths. They were kept quiet, but both were relatives of executive board members. We managed to track down the sealed coroner's reports. Both apparently overdosed on flight, and as such the families were keeping it quiet."

Barry whistled softly. "That's clever."

Galadriel frowned. "What do you mean?"

Barry glanced at Eric, who nodded for him to continue. "It's a scare tactic," he explained. "You can't go after the executives themselves. Too obvious, too blatant, there's no finesse. You aim at the foundation: trusted advisors, family, friends."

"Thirty-six hours after the last death, SummerTech sold out to White City for far below the projected price," Eric finished.

Barry shook his head angrily. "It was considered quite the coup by the business world."

"Which," Finn said dryly, "it was, in a way."

Elrond raised an eyebrow. "As fascinating as this speculation into Darryl Stuart's business morality is, I fail to see how this links White City Enterprises to the Dark Lord."

Eric opened his mouth, but hesitated as Barry's business phone rang. Barry waved him to continue as he left the room.

Barry stood in the hall outside the conference room and flipped the phone open. "Barry Stuart," he said briskly.

"Hey, it's Bergenson."

"Brent? What is it? Why didn't you contact me through normal channels?"

Brent Bergenson was Barry's man on Darryl's personal security detail, and he kept Barry well informed about the less-than-savoury odd jobs that Darryl sometimes required.

He was meticulous and utterly professional.

The fact that he had called Barry on a potentially tapped or traceable cell phone sent chills down Barry's spine. "What's wrong?"

"One of Darryl's secretaries died yesterday. Madeline Ste. Baptiste. We were asked to dispose of the body."

"Christ! What happened?"

There was a pause, and Brent lowered his voice. "After a little bit of persuasion, one of the surveillance guys told me that some business associates of Darryl's just killed her as they walked through the outer office."

Barry ran a hand through his hair, jumbled thoughts and half-formed plans running through his mind. "Surveillance tapes?"

"Vanished under mysterious circumstances, I'm given to understand, along with the security guy I talked to."

"Shit." Barry released an explosive breath. "What happened to the body?"

"We took her to some of the cops on Darryl's payroll and fed them some story about a mugging. I pulled their report, and she's down in the morgue on Rue St-Just."

"Okay," Barry said, thoughts spinning through his head. "Send me the report now. Then you're on personal leave, make up a story, anything. Don't go back to work, your surveillance guy might have talked. Get the hell out of the White City. If I don't call you within a week, just don't come back."

"I understand," Brent replied. And he did. There were no guarantees in their business. "Good luck, Barry."

"You too." 

Barry flipped the phone shut and took a deep breath. He opened the door of the conference room. "Sorry to interrupt," he said. "Alice and Adam, can I see you outside?"

Alice stood beside the body on the operating table, glad for the weight of Adam's hand on her shoulder. This particular spell was flirting the borders of necromancy, and god, how she hated death magic. She'd done it twice before, back in the department, when the Jane Does had literally dropped out of nowhere, with no leads or killers in sight, but that didn't make it any easier.

She took a deep breath, and laid her hands of the corpse's stiffened face.

Pain and terror jolted through her, paralysing her body. She opened her mouth to scream, but couldn't even force a whimper. Blond hair was waving in front of her face as she began to fall, so slowly, papers tumbling down around her, her hands clawing at the air, and there! There! Just a flash, the quickest glance- black hair and a child with dead eyes. And darkness rushing in around her and blossoming warmth-

She felt herself yanked back, then Adam was holding her. She gagged, trying to breathe, trying to clear away the decaying memories, and then she wheeled away and retched into the garbage can.

She spat the last of the taste away, and then she was herself again. The room gradually stopped turning and Adam was holding on to her, keeping her from falling forward.

"Dead man's eyes," said Alice, digging her fingernails into her palm. She tasted blood and realized she'd bitten her lip while casting. "I saw the Witch Queen." 

"...and what was significant about the three deaths was in the flight itself."

"What do you mean?"

Eric spoke to the group, now missing Adam, Alice, and Barry, but the Elves were looking thoughtful about his report and asking questions, so he felt hopeful. "We gained access to the crime scenes and obtained samples of the flight taken by the victims. Biochemical analysis suggests a new crystalline structure, making it even more potent than previous varieties. This is important as this type of flight is recent and very rare. In fact, as far as we know, it's only been found in two locations: London, and-"

"-New York," Legolas finished.

Eric flashed him a smile. "Exactly", he said. "The NYPD seized almost a ton of it about two weeks ago, around the time of the last of the subway kidnappings, what we now know to be the return of the Nazgul. In addition to this, White City Enterprises isn't supplying the flight, so they're getting it from an outside source, but one close enough and deep enough to be part of their darker activities. We suspect that the shadow organization that's distributing this powerful flight and supplying it to Darryl Stuart is a front for Sauron's organization."

"So who has Sam and Peter?" Felix asked sharply. "White City or Sauron or some fucked-up combination of the two?"

Galadriel glanced at Felix. "Patience. Eric's theory, while disturbing, still doesn't give us any concrete evidence, which we most certainly need before we move against such a man as powerful as Darryl Stuart."

Felix snapped. "So when will you have the evidence you need?" he shouted, slamming his fists on the table. "When they rip Goldenwood down around you? When they send Sam and Peter home in boxes? Goddammit!" He stormed from the room, and Mark took a moment to glare at the rest of the Elves before he stalked out after Felix.

Gabe sighed. "Their best friends have disappeared, my lady. That wasn't the most diplomatic way to deal with it."

Galadriel looked at him. "Nor will they be the last to disappear, son of Gloin, if we do not find our answers, but haste and ill preparation will not help our cause."

"I understand that, but right now, Sam and Peter may be dying for our cause, and while haste won't help, neither will overcaution." He met her electric gaze without flinching.

The tense silence that followed was broken by the ring of Elrond's cell phone. He picked it up. "Yes?"

The others watched as the worry on his face shifted into a reptilian smile. He turned off the phone.

"That was Arwen. We have our proof."


End file.
